Journal Entry 1:
It’s been telling me there isn’t much time now, but I don’t know what that means. It told me in my sleep, among other things. I don’t have dreams in the sense of images, but I hear a voice. A whisper. Soft, yet raspy, speaking to me as I float in the void of unconsciousness. Usually I don’t wake up, but I have. Covered in sweat and panting, gasping for air. All that’s before me is my empty room. A hazy moonlight reaching through my window, the sound of soft winds outside, and a ticking clock are all that greet me. But no matter what time I wake up, I can still hear the voice in my head. Repeating over and over, throughout the day, whatever phrase it chose to tell me the night prior. Here are some that I remember from just this last week.
“I won’t hurt you. Not until I have to”
“Just a slice”
“Sleep, sleep, sleep”
“This is your fault”
“Almost time”
It wasn’t long before started waking up with lacerations on my body. My arms, stomach, legs, and neck now have inch to two-inch long patches of missing skin. Blood on my sheets and I’d wake up feeling overly groggy, as if I had melatonin weighing down my awareness. I’m scared my friends and family would think I’m crazy if I told them what’s been happening lately. But I don’t know if that’s me, or my subconscious doubting how they’d react. Would they be happy that I reached out? Maybe. Or maybe they’d avoid me; think I was crazy. I spoke with a therapist instead. He immediately referred me to a psychiatrist. I guess it was a red flag when I said that I don’t know what thoughts are mine, not until after I’ve done something awful, having no recollection of doing it. She told me to keep a journal and record everything and anything I wanted to write. It would help my mental state.
Journal Entry Two:
My psychiatrist, Ms. Everette, said to think about the first time I encountered… this. I recently moved into my first house. It was a bit nerve-racking, and I felt scared being in the middle of nowhere. Just me and my cat. The house had been vacant for over twenty-years, so I got a good deal on it and had ambitions to fix it up. It’s quite decrepit; dressed in holes and missing boards both inside and out, but I was sure to patch up what areas I could before moving in. I especially wanted it safe for Chai. I could only have her in the open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen; as well as my bedroom since the rest of the house was still gutted and needing repair. She began acting strange when we moved in, however, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard cats doing before. Staring at nothing in the corners of the room, hearing things in the walls, but it was especially strange that she mostly just hid. She was normally an active and affectionate cat.
I was woken to the sounds of her hissing and meowing loudly the night before- it happened. She was clearly frightened and wouldn’t come out from under the couch. I slept on the couch that night to keep her company. The next morning, I noticed she had scratch marks. Her golden fur was spotted red. I looked under the couch for loose staples and on the floor for nails, but didn’t find anything. The following night, the voices started.
“I won’t hurt you, not until I have to.”
I slept through the whole night and heard the words repeated to me for 7 hours. Repeatedly. My mind echoed the phrase still after I woke. My vision was blurry, and I felt dizzy- mildly numb. I looked around the now morning-lit room, my skin feeling tight, like paint had dried on my hands and arms. Chai lay beside me in my bed, blood and gashes decorating her lifeless body. The same blood that coated my hands and forearms, drying in the morning sun. Confused and in shock, the phrase rang through my head as I grieved the loss of my dear friend. “I won’t hurt you, not until I have to”. I jolted out of bed and rushed to the bathroom as the nauseating feeling of vomit coursed my mouth.
Journal Entry Three:
I hear things behind the walls and under the floorboards of my house. I can’t trust myself when I sleep and now, I can’t trust my surroundings during the day. It’s all in my head but it sounds so real. I didn’t sleep last night. Instead, I drank two pots of coffee and paced around for the entirety of the night. I could hear things but when I looked behind the drywall, there was never anything there. I’ve riddled my new home with even more holes than when I first arrived, setting the renovation date farther back. The voice told me last night that it, “it would be time”. Time for what, exactly? How can I live my life when something inside me continues to toy with me?! Mock me and trick me?!
I cried today, wondering if I would end up in a padded room. My family would get a call and see me tied in a jacket, locked in a cell rambling to myself. “It would be time. It would be time”. Time for fucking WHAT? Get out of my head! You like that!? Get out of my head. Get out of my head.
Get out, get out, getout getou getout gouet
Journal Entry Four:
!NO.,,.,.,I WAS HERE FIRST,.,…,,YOU WANT TO STAY,.,.,.I EAT FROM YOUR BONE!<
Journal Entry Five:
I should have calmed down before barging into my psychiatrist’s office like that. I might as well be sprinting toward the insane asylum, but I couldn’t help myself. Bursting through the office door and dropping to my knees, I pleaded with her to look at what was written. I wore a long sleeve shirt to hide the scars and cuts, scared she might send me off to a facility where I would lose my freedom. I just wanted to be normal again. Her eyes looked at the journal, at me, and back at the journal. I told her I didn’t write the last entry. I told her the truth. She calmed me down and asked me to wait outside, resuming her session with the client she currently had.
They finished and he walked passed on me his way out. I apologized to him as he left, positive I probably made them feel better about whatever situation he was struggling with. Ms. Everett called me in, I sat across from her, and I explained myself. Not just about how I wasn’t the one to write in the journal but, how I didn’t want to go to a hospital. How I didn’t want to be put in a padded room. She chuckled, knowing full well I was describing insane asylums from old horror movies, but then her tone shifted. She explained how she couldn’t allow me to be a danger to myself or others. My body tensed in the wooden chair, I fumbled with a button on my long shirt. Her eyes softened and her face relaxed. She put down her notebook and made a suggestion.
If I could put a camera up while I sleep and give her a direct feed to monitor my sleep. It would be an extreme measure, but it would her decide whether or not she could help me, or if I did indeed have to be checked into a facility. She would be given full control of the feed; recording, pausing, editing, and we would only use it in my bedroom for when I was sleeping. We could get proof of my sleepwalking habits and possibly put my mind to rest that maybe, I do need a little extra help. That a facility was the right option. She then talked me through some of the facilities available in my area to reassure me they were not at all like what I was picturing. I finally agreed. Anything to stop this nightmare.
Journal Entry Six:
I found a relatively cheap camera that I could put up in the corner of my room. It was connected through the wi-fi and I gave full control to my psychiatrist. We talked on the phone and tested it out. Everything worked properly. Audio and video feedback, night mode, movement detection, and even an alarm feature to wake me up if I tried hurting myself again. As I lay here now, I can see the little recording light of the camera shining from the corner of the room. I wore a shirt that would be comfortable to sleep in, though it did now show off the patches of missing skin. I guess she would see now that I’ve been doing worse things than just hearing voices and sleepwalking, but it’s time I get this handled. I can’t live like this and sure can’t put anyone else in danger.
Journal Entry Seven:
My last entry. I write this from the police station of which I’ve spent the better half of the day. I don’t remember falling asleep, but in the void of my slumber I could feel a pinch, followed by a warm overwhelming numb as if a dream were wrapping itself around me. I heard the voice in my sleep. It whispered to me in the soft raspy voice that haunted my mind.
“Time for harvest”
But suddenly, a loud electronic buzz rang threw my dreams. The piercing sound erupted from inside my bedroom. I sprang awake, back to reality - and something stood hunched before me. Humanoid in shape but pale white as the moon. Far too skinny to be a person and with limbs twice the length of any normal body part. It contorted around the room quickly, its limbs crackling. It disappeared into an open hole in the wall. I winced my eyes to the ongoing shrill noise that had woke me. The sound was from the camera, an alarm. I felt drunk. My mind cloudy, urging me to slip into a faded sleep, when a light illuminated the room. It was my phone. I stood and stumbled over to it, fumbling the glowing slab in my hand, I answered. A familiar voice shrieked.
“The police are on their way, get out of the house!”
I held my head and stumbled to my lamp. The walls sounded like they were moving, and the alarm shrieked still. The sounds of scratching on wood itched all around me. I flicked on the lamp, as I realized it was my psychiatrist who was on the other end of the phone. I began to piece everything together and I realized she used the camera’s alarm to wake me before I could hurt myself again. The cops were coming for me, and my life was no longer in my hands. I scrambled to grab my sense of freedom.
“Oh, no no. Ms. Everrete, please. I can’t go to a nut house! I’m scared of what-“
“THERE’S SOMETHING IN YOUR HOUSE. GET OUT NOW.”
A cold feeling rushed over me. The scratching from in the walls grew louder, sounding more real knowing it wasn’t just in my head. My grogginess grew worse, but I leaned my weight in the direction of the front door and started walking before I could think. One foot crossed over another, and I stumbled to the ground, slamming my phone to the floor. The glowing light slid on the floor and away from me, disappearing under my dresser. I rose to my feet leaving my phone where it lied and hustled for the front door. I yanked it open and ran into the frigid night air. A slight wind blew through the trees, and I heard an awful screech from my house behind me.
A piercing shrill echoed in the woods, interrupted only by the sound of breaking glass. Snapping twigs and rustling leaves crunched below my feet, and in the woods to my left. Something was chasing me. “Time for harvest. Time for harvest”, echoed through my mind. I focused on my breathing and shrugged off the persisting exhaustion, my mind still cloudy as if I could fall asleep any second. I could see red and blue lights approach the end of my driveway, halting as I came into view. I flailed my arms, unsure if they would realize I was running to them for safety. I called out for help but the scurrying in the woods grew closer. I could hear a couple car doors slam as figures of three officers formed in the headlights, but the cold grasp of something in flaky leathery texture wrapped its grip around my ankle.
I stopped immediately, my face dropping to the rock embedded driveway with such force that my nose was broken instantly. Before I could entirely lift my head, I was yanked by my foot backwards toward the house. My shirt sliding to my neck, my stomach scraping on stone and dirt. The sudden panic in the officer’s voice called out to me and a pop from a firearm dispelled into the air. I heard a single whizzing bullet pass me overhead and penetrate the body of the thing attached to my ankle. It released me and I stood to my feet, the circulation to my foot slowly regaining. The sound of crunching limbs scattering over dried leaves faded into the darkness of the woods. I leapt forward and ran toward the lights. A screech tore through the midnight wind, silencing the sounds of branch and brush, if not for just a moment.
The officers took me back to the station as they called back up to go investigate the house. I continued to slip in and out of consciousness on the way to the station. When we arrived, I told them everything that had been going on and my psychiatrist arrived for review. I felt as if I could fall asleep at any time. They said I showed signs of being drugged so they asked that I take a blood test. That was when the psychiatrist showed the video of what happened.
The sensor went off to alert her that movement had been detected. She glanced at her phone and could see something crouching over me. It had its face next to mine and was holding me down by the shoulders. The microphone didn’t pick it up anything, but somehow it was speaking to me. Placing words in my mind. She nearly screamed, she said, when a pointed end protruded from its nearly three-foot forearm, jabbing me in my arm. I lifted my arm and she pointed at the exact spot. It was purple but healing fast. She said that’s when she finally set off the alarm, called the police, then called me. My blood sample showed traces of a natural form of benzodiazepine and Niacin, of which they’re forensics lab has never seen before. It matched a sample taken from the driveway; fluid from the creature when it was shot. But they never found the creature, and my house was empty.
What they did find, after tearing away at some of the structure of the house, was a few compartments where the creature had been hiding. Dried blood coating the walls and insulation, and the floor was riddled with bones of small animals like birds and mice. This thing was sedating me, messing with my mind, and feeding off my flesh. I imagine that last night was going to be the night it would kill me. Or maybe it had other plans for me. I don’t know and I’m happy I never will. The important thing to know is that it’s still out there. Messing with the mind of some poor soul. Never second guess yourself. If you don’t trust the noises you hear in the darkness of night, you’re probably right.