It’s been a few weeks since my last message, maybe longer. I don’t know when I can post this because my internet use is under diligent supervision. I’ve been ‘discouraged to engage my obsession’. My Watchdogs, as I’ve begun to refer to them, don’t leave my sight. Even when showering or going to the bathroom, I’m supposed to leave my phone outside of the room. I’ve begged Clark to loosen the reigns, but he is relentless. It’s either this or involuntary hospitalization.
I don’t know where Clark found this army of collaborators but somehow he managed to gather a team that ensures around-the-clock observation. They just about allow me to wipe my own ass. The other day, I strolled to the back of the yard to pick some of the last berries of the season. The woman who was tasked with watching me that day came out in a panic so severe I thought she was going to have a psychotic break. She yelled at me while she stomped straight through my nasturtium beds to GET THE FUCK BACK INSIDE. Rude. But whatever, I obliged. Like I was going to run into a monster-filled forest in my flip-flops, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. What was I going to defend myself with? Brambles? Idiots.
Apart from the near meltdowns whenever I look towards the forest, they act all sweet and caring. Their act doesn’t fool me tho. In reality, they are judgemental and intrusive. I feel like they’re as suffocating as the fog. Of course, they don’t believe a word of what I said happened to me. I’ve stopped trying to convince them. Fuck ‘em. I’m sure it’s an ungrateful job to look after someone who in their minds lost the plot, but the constant eye rolls and looks they give each other when switching shifts.. It’s so frustrating.. I know what happened. I know what I saw.. Well, not exactly, but I know whatever is happening out there, is real. And not some figment created by an unstable mind.
Every night, since my return, I have been plagued by nightmares. I keep reliving my harrowing encounters. Clark and my shrink insist it’s because I’m not being consistent with my prescriptions. The truth is, after a few days of vivid night terrors I was so desperate for a few nights of solid, uninterrupted sleep that I have been very compliant with my medication regime. It just doesn’t seem to have any effect on me anymore. At first, the medication made me borderline catatonic. But now, even when I take the maximum dose, it leaves me unphased. As a matter of fact, I have rarely been this clear-minded.
Clark’s trying very hard to act normal around me. But that’s precisely what it feels like, an act. I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled by his performance. He’ll get into bed, fall ‘asleep’ in a few minutes, he’ll even start to snore,.. loudly. Then, suddenly, mid-snore sometimes, he’ll sit up straight and sneak out to have an elaborate.. debriefing, I guess. ‘Has she been saying anything unusual? What did she do? What did she read? Did she make a mad dash towards the forest? I tried to confront him about it one time, but he had the audacity to straight up deny it. He kept gaslighting me, acting like I was imagining it all. Ridiculous.
I mean, obviously, I need to get back out there. The mist that previously only sporadically hung in the treetops seems to be taunting me every morning now. Summoning me. Pulling me towards the forest. I can almost hear it call my name in the quiet of the night, just before dawn. But don’t worry. This time, I will be better prepared. All I need is more information.
I’ve been trying to do research. Since it’s practically impossible for me to access the internet without somebody lurking over my shoulder. I’ve been resorting to the library. I know.. Oldschool. The Watchdogs haven’t caught on. From the get-go, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking one of those trolleys they use to haul books around. I kept piling books on, seemingly at random. Dramatic novellas, sci-fi, philosophy,.. An eclectic mix, I know. The first few times, the Watchdogs nonchalantly went through my choices but thought little of it. After a couple of times, they figured I was just bored and let me at it. That’s when I started to include books about local folklore, historical archives and ancestral tales. I was looking for any mention of unusual occurrences in the forests surrounding our town. The town’s official archives yielded no significant information, but perhaps tales of strange happenings whispered among the folkloric fables and myths, I hoped.
It’s not much yet, but there was one story that caught my attention. It was the first one from a book titled ‘(Name of my town): The Woodland Fables’. I hope you’ll understand I’m not willing to share where I live. I couldn’t live with myself if morbid curiosity got the better of you and you ventured out here. I almost tossed the book after scrolling through the first fantastical tale but one passage caught my attention: ‘..In the ancient days of yore, as the veils of a thick mist enshrouded the still foliage above the otherwise complete tranquility of the greenwood, a monstrous form emerged from the shadows..’. Am I grasping at straws? Perhaps. But the fact that whoever wrote it explicitly mentioned veils of thick mist.. it sounded a bit too familiar to be a coincidence. Right?
Unfortunately, as their denomination predicts, the Watchdogs caught wind of my ebullience, forcing me to casually toss aside the book. I will return tomorrow and try to find out more.
—
I wasn’t able to return to the library as planned. Something happened. That day I came home to find Clark hunched over the kitchen counter. Something was off. For starters, Schnitzel wasn’t there to greet me. Something he’s usually adorably adamant about. There was also an atmosphere of.. dread? It’s hard to explain. The vibe was just off.
‘Um.. Hi.. everything ok?’, I asked. He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to the Watchdog. ‘You can leave for the evening’, he hissed as he purposely stomped towards the door. For whatever reason my Keeper seemed hesitant, but ultimately he made his way to the door, trying to make eye contact with Clark. Who, in turn, stubbornly refused to meet his gaze and stared outside. Clark barely waited for him to step over the threshold before forcefully shoving the door.
I felt uneasy. Clark’s usually pretty mellow and laid back. Both in his physical mannerisms and personality. His posture isn’t the best but it suits him. The way he carries himself is quite endearing because of it. And when he talks he generally does so in a soft, compassionate voice.
Not that night. That night he stood tall. Shoulders squared, creating an aura of strength and confidence. His head was held high, and his chin stood perpendicular to the floor, conveying self-assuredness. ‘What the fuck happened to my husband’ I thought to myself.
He was standing a few meters away from me, yet every time he exhaled I felt his heavy breath sending a shiver from my fingertips to my shoulders and down my spine. We stood there for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, just staring at each other in silence. A strained silence, punctured only by the sound of his breathing. ‘So.. how was your day?’, my voice trembled as I tried to speak unconcernedly. He didn’t answer.
His movements felt premeditated. As his hand slid off the knob, he brought it to his head. He charismatically ran his hand through his long, brown hair as he let out a long, deep sigh while rolling his eyes. ‘You’, he moaned, as he adjusted himself to face me. My entire body started to shiver. I could feel my heart palpitating in my chest. I froze.
Clark came towards me. His gait was deliberate and purposeful, as if he commanded the very ground he walked upon. My body instinctively moved backward until I felt the edge of the kitchen counter push against my lower back. He then pushed himself against me. He’s quite a bit taller and broader than me. It hurt so badly, that I thought my spine was going to shatter against the granite countertop. For a moment I thought his body was going to completely engulf mine. In a swift move, he grabbed me by the throat. I struggled to breathe but my gasps left him unphased.
Panicked, I looked into his eyes, hoping to be met with even a glimmer of something that resembled my husband. Instead, I was met with pure, blind fury. His usually warm hazel eyes had darkened to an almost sinister shade of black. The whites of his eyes became bloodshot and strained with veins crisscrossing like angry lightning on a stormy night. As he prepared to speak again, his pupils constricted to mere pinpricks.
His thumb loosened its grip and he dragged it across my mouth so strenuously that my lower lip started to bleed from being pushed against the edge of my teeth. His face was now so close to mine that the warmth of his breath flooded my face, making my eyes water. Through clenched teeth, he spoke: ‘You.. have to stop, NOW.’.
He seemed to wait for my response for a second. When I was unable to give him one, he pressed me even further into the granite and relentlessly closed my throat so tightly I thought he was going to break my neck. Frightened, I managed to produce a minuscule, labored squeak. He seemed to accept this as my surrender. A vile smirk dragged itself across his face. With his other hand he grabbed my hair to pull back my head and he.. he licked the blood off my lips.
That’s the last thing I remember before passing out. The next morning I woke up in bed. Schnitzel curled up on top of my feet. Clark was already behind his computer. At first, I thought I had had another nightmare. The disorientation and doubt quickly subsided when I ran my tongue over the edge of my lower lip and I could feel the ragged edges of where he had broken the skin last night. It took me a while to regain my composure. My first reaction was to lock myself and Schnitzel in our bedroom. We sat there for over an hour, trying to concoct some explanation of what the fuck happened.
In a moment of mystifying bravado, I decided that I needed to confront Clark. I raged out of the room, strutted past the Keeper and barged into Clark’s office. I expected the same wrath I had seen in his eyes the night before. Part of me fully anticipated being thrown across the room. But when I, gracelessly, stormed into his office, I was met only by his sweet, caring hazel eyes staring at me with concern and confusion. Instantly, I knew. I knew that whatever had assaulted me last night, was not Clark.
I have no explanation for what exactly happened, yet. But after last night, I know I’m getting closer to finding out.
I have to go back to the library.