Regarding the incident of November the 12th
Transcribed from the Journal of J. Calloway #4765
Entry 1
I am not sure who I am writing this to; I have no one who cares. My life is over as far as I see it but I’ll be damned if my voice is not heard.
Dear reader, do not construe these as my final words before I take my own life for I wish to live on. My only respite is to believe that someday, someone might read this and that sentiment eases my mind. I have no one to converse with for the man who shares this cell with me does not speak.
This man has transformed from a mild annoyance to the object of my torment. Not only does he remain silent, but he does not acknowledge my words nor does he regard my presence. He spends his days pacing in front of the door and his nights sleeping soundly in his corner of the room.
From my first day with him, I have tried my best to communicate with the man. I have asked his name, where he is from, why he is here, and all manner of questions to no avail. I have made sudden, loud vocalizations in attempts to startle him but he never reacts. I have insulted him in every vulgar way I know how but he never stirs.
The guards do not care about my complaints. I tell them of his behavior when they bring us our meals but they do not seem to care and leave without a word; silent just as the man I am trapped with. I began to believe he was deaf, mute, or a combination of the two, until yesterday.
I sat against the wall reading as I normally do when an itching inside my throat caused me to cough in order to quell the unpleasant sensation. As soon as I did so, I saw the eyes of the man quickly glance in my direction before darting away. Anger welled inside of me as I recalled the weeks of agonizing silence he had subjected me to. However, I did not say a word. I pretended as though I had not seen his mistake.
As time goes on, my suspicion of the man grows. Why does he feign muteness? I do not know if he is merely insane or if an ulterior motive drives him to continue with this facade. Regardless of his reasons, I shall keep my distance as much as this cell allows.
Entry 2
This sense of uneasiness grows each day. The knot in my chest causes difficulty breathing and the heaviness in my stomach pulls me towards the floor. I cannot help but be anxious around this man. I have not spoken in his presence in days.
It wears on my soul to live in this manner.
However, I am beginning to accept this as my fate. Maybe I deserve this. Whether this is the intended punishment prescribed by this facility or a cruel but fair action taken by God, I do not know.
Each night, I dream of the things I have done. I awake with a start with the gruesome images still burned in my mind.
Although I know that I deserve it, I do not wish to die for the fate that I know awaits me in the afterlife is much worse than my present state.
I can accept this. It comforts me even. Maybe the suffering I endure at the hands of this man might spare me the eternal torment of Hell. I pray this is the case.
Entry 3
The bastard.
Last night, I awoke suddenly from my sleep to find the ingrate reaching for this journal. I startled him as I stirred and he fled to his corner of the cell where he sat and stared at me. For the remainder of the night, his empty eyes glared at me and his face remained expressionless.
This is the first time I have seen his face in its entirety. It only makes my hate for him grow.
What reason would he have to read my most private thoughts? He would have nothing to gain that I can imagine.
Entry 4
[Page is filled with scribbles of human-like figures and unintelligible words. A drawing of a large, dead tree with winding branches adorns the center. The word “silence” written around the edges of the page]
Entry 5
I cannot speak of what I have done for he might tell. He must not know. He can hear just as well as any man; he can speak and I know this to be true. I must not utter a word of my misdeeds in his presence and I cannot document them in fear of the bastard discovering these entries. I shall hang if it is known what I have done and he would most certainly tell. He wants me to hang, he wants me to divulge my secrets, but I will not tell. No, no, I will not tell him. I will not tell him nor will I record my wrongdoings for him to use against me.
He, my deranged tormentor, takes joy in my suffering. My conscience tears at me for I regret what I have done but I cannot speak of it to relieve this overbearing weight I carry. He mocks me with his silence and he takes pleasure in this madness. He wants me to break.
He wants me to tell.
That is why he is here. That is why they have stuck me with him. They want to drive me mad with silence in hopes that my guilt will spill over. It is his duty.
It is his duty but he will fail.
I will not die at the hangman’s noose for the fate that awaits me in death is far worse than my present torment. I will remain forever silent and the knowledge of my past will never be shared.
Entry 6
Has my sentence has already been passed? Was my mortal coil hung from the gallows and sent to rot in the ground while my spirit remains here? This is not at all the fire and brimstone which I had come to expect of Hell.
[Entry 7 is missing. Apparently torn out]
Entry 8
I am a fool.
My tormentor appeared to be asleep and, In a moment of weakness and the weight of guilt bearing down on me, I documented what I had done.
With each word I wrote, my emotions soared. I began to relive the moments and saw pictures of my deeds clearly in my head.
I could not let my confession remain. I tore the page from this book, ripped it to ribbons, and hid the pieces.
I do not know how long I have been confined in this goddamn cell. I am told that I am due for trial soon. There is still hope that I may be set free.
Entry 9
I will hang soon. Not for my past deeds, but for what I have just done.
I returned from my trial to find the pieces of my confession had gone missing.
He must have been awake that night. He must have seen me tear my confession asunder and where I had hidden the remains. He found the pieces and placed them together so he knew. He would tell.
He did not suffer long. My hands around his throat forbade him to breathe until he ceased to struggle against me. Even in his last moments, he did not utter a word. The noises of his gasping and thrashing still ring in my ears and the look from his empty eyes as his life faded still burned into my memory.
The scratches on my arms still sting and blood steadily seeps from the gashes.
It will be morning before the guards find him. As I write this, I see his lifeless body sprawled on the floor; his head facing me and his empty eyes stare into my soul. Even in death, he judges me for what I have done. Silent. Just as he was in life.
My fate is now sealed. I will sleep if I can for it is likely the last night I will be able to do so.
Entry 10
I awoke to the body of the man in the same position as he had passed; his eyes still open and his mouth agape in an eternal gasp for breath. I could not tell how much time had passed, but I knew the guards would come soon and the gallows soon after.
I pray for forgiveness although I know I deserve none. I may only hang for the murder of my tormentor but I shall be held accountable for both his death and the others.
Staff Note:
The resident, J. Calloway, shall be watched by no less than two attendees. Not a soul is permitted entry into his holding room other than attending medical staff.
It is still unclear where the body came from or who it is. Security shall see to it that the perimeter of the facility is not encroached upon and that all entrances including windows and ventilation be secured.