I’m not sure if this counts as what most people would consider to be a “horror story”, but I need to get a personal experience off my chest. Something that has been haunting me for years now, and it is my hope by posting this that someone may be able to help me understand what happened to my childhood best friend…
Oliver White was the type of person everyone liked. When you needed help, he was there to lend both his hands. When you were worn out or sick, he was there to take over for you. Whatever he did was always done with such conviction that whatever it was, was completed swiftly and properly, often with a bit extra as just a cherry on top, thrown up there for good luck. He was perfect, in every sense of the word. The key word there is ‘was.’
I went to visit him once, years ago, and he greeted me as per usual. Our visit went like all our others before it, (nothing more than catching up), till I happened to glance at a sticky note tacked onto the front door as I was leaving. I didn’t mention it to him and just figured it was a friendly reminder he’d written to himself.
It read: Don’t forget to lock the door at night.
Two weeks later I visited him again for another friendly catch-up. This time, while we shared lunch and light conversation, I caught onto three more notes around the house.
The first was on the coffee table. Don’t forget to turn off the television after watching the news.
The next by the stove. Don’t forget to turn off the stove after cooking.
And the last by the sink. Don’t forget to do the dishes and take out the trash after dinner.
I remember I made some witty joke to which he only raised an eyebrow at, but I still just assured myself he was the same overly organized person he always was…until another two weeks when I came again.
Don’t forget Katie is coming over today.
Don’t forget to make dinner for you and Katie.
Remember: Katie likes to talk about music and song writing.
These notes were in more obscure locations, but I was uneasy upon finding them. But it was the next one that really churned my insides to muck. I found it above the mirror in the bathroom.
Don’t forget to smile and laugh. Katie likes that. Make everything seem normal. THE BAD TIMES WILL PASS!
I know it’s all so ineffective to all you reading this, but truly, my best friend since childhood, Oliver White…I never knew him to be like this.
It scared me. I didn’t visit Oliver for another month, and when I eventually did again, I was hit by nothing I could have ever imagined. This time, I dropped by unexpectedly. Oliver was not there, and so I let myself in.
Turn off the lights.
Set a/c to cool before bed.
Close door.
Lock door.
I AM A 24-YEAR-OLD MALE.
Eat breakfast.
WHO IS MY MOTHER?
Close window.
Eat Lunch.
Go to bed.
I REMEMBER NOTHING. WHY?
Dinnertime!
I AM NOT DYING, RIGHT?
Walk to bathroom.
Use the bathroom.
Drink water!
MY NAME IS OLIVER.
Turn off fan.
WHY DOES NO ONE TRUST ME?
Sleep.
Shower.
Wake up.
WHY CAN”T I DO ANYTHING?
Turn lamp off.
Read book.
Get the mail.
SET ME FREE ALREADY.
All of these messages and more I can’t remember were all scribbled onto sticky notes that littered every surface of the house. Simple words and tasks, all stuck onto various surfaces, reminding Oliver who he was or what he should be doing throughout the day.
Questions flooded my mind as I’m sure you have just as many. I wish I could answer them, or be any help at all, but I cannot. I’ve wrecked my brain over this. I have no idea what happened to him, but I found one thing, that to be honest, has only led to more questions.
Scribbled on a lined piece of paper:
WHAT WAS HER NAME?
HOW DO I FORGET?
I NEED TO TELL HER GOODBYE.
TELL ME GOD, WHY?
EYES ALL WATCHING ME NOW…
It’s that last line that has really stuck with me, that, and the fact that the five phrases are an acrostic poem for Oliver’s last name. If anyone reading this and has any idea what any of it means, please let me know. I’ve spent the last years of my life wondering and tearing myself apart trying to link these clues together. But am I just crazy? Am I looking for a deeper meaning where there is none? The best I can say is that it must be some kind of amnesia, I don’t know.
I learned Oliver was admitted to the local hospital by his neighbors for reasons not shared with me, but I could only expect the worst. Still, I have gone to only visit him once, and it will be my last.
As soon as I walked in, he looked up from the bed at me and said, “And you are?”
-Katie L.