March 30th, 11:14pm
I don’t know what to say this time.
My days are empty and hollow. My life is slowly crumbling around me, and I can feel my body dying. It’s an interesting feeling anymore, but at first, it was terrifying. You grow used to it.
It’s been a month or so since my update. You’d assume I would have immediately posted regardless of what happened. But I had to wait so I could grow used to my new, painful routine. The routine that I pace through every. Single. Day. Everyday feels more and more unnatural, and the presence of what was: still lingers. My soul is empty, and there are times where I have to drag my fingers across the walls to make sure I’m actually real.
I fill the food bowls, replace the water, and lay out new scratch boards for the cats.
I never see them anymore.
I guess I should go into what exactly happened that night.
Sam and I did go to my grandma’s house. I would go to my moms, but she’s an hour away, and my grandma is maybe twenty minutes. I didn’t explain much of what happened, just lied and said we’d lost power, and felt it best to stay until it came back on. I typically have an overwhelming sense of overstaying my welcome, and after a conversation with Sam, we decided to suck it up and go home. It doesn’t feel like home though, and it hurts.
The first thing we noticed when we eventually put the key in, and turned the knob was the feeling of… silence.
No cats greeted us by the door, and the house sat like a tombstone in an abandoned cemetery.
I haven’t been sleeping much. Call it paranoia, but there is no way I’m gonna let myself sleep for more than a few hours.
The first night back, neither of us actually slept. We didn’t turn on the tv, we didn’t go downstairs unless we absolutely had to, and we go through the front door, instead of the side door now.
I’m starting to smoke more now, to ebb the paranoia and fear that I feel. Sam too. Sometimes we go through two vapes a week in comparison to the vape every two weeks.
She’s been sitting on the porch with me a lot more. She used to hate it because it was on the Main Street, and heavy traffic, but anything to get us out really helps I think.
Navigating life without our cats has been… hard, needless to say. I still feel them around me. They still eat from their bowls, and drink their water. Use the litter box even. But every time I try to see them, even a glance. They’re gone. It’s like a nothing burger of bullshit. I’m filled almost with delusions, and Sam never sees them. Never heard them. She doesn’t feel their presence like I do. Maybe I’m going crazy.
Life is a guilty addendum of repetition. My life is a routine. Everything I do in my day has a purpose for an absolute end.
It’s the reason I still fill the bows, the water. I still lay out treats and toys. Sam doesn’t notice because she’s so used to it.
Today though, she asked me: “Why do you still do that?”
Does she not see the bowls empty? Or the water fountain that I paid good money for when it’s empty? The whirring of mechanics as it begs to be refilled? Does she not notice the shower mats still clinging with black fur because my cat seems to love sleeping on them? I wash them every week, and the result is the same after a single night or two.
I haven’t read back on my other posts, but I think I said someone about me not having a job. Well, to refill my time, I got one. And then I lost it last week. I don’t know why. The only thing I was told was “Lack of dedication and willingness to participate.” Whatever that means. But that’s Ohio for you.
Sam and I have been growing apart. Both of us are confused about our positions in life, and we’re not quite sure how to lean on each other for help and support. We’ve been trying to have a conversation with each other for a while. But it’s useless. Not because we argue or anything, but because we’ve lost our ability to communicate somehow. I love Sam though.
If she sees this. Sam, you’re my best friend. And I love you.
Some good news though.
My other two roommates moved out. They found an apartment somewhere in Dayton. Sam and I have seen it. And I’m proud of them.
Sam got a settlement from her car accident back in April. She took me out to eat. Nothing came from it. But I’m glad she got what she deserved. And I definitely appreciated the Olive Garden.
I, on the other hand. Haven’t had as much luck. It makes me wonder if I have actually done something wrong.
It’s raining. In the next few minutes as I’m typing this, it’s supposed to start thunderstorming soon.
Currently, I’m back at my grandma’s house. I needed a moment away from the house, to gain my bearings, and I left most of my necessities over there. I’ll borrow clothes, I can be a grandma for a week or two.
At the moment, I am having a nice glass of wine, typing this on my grandma’s computer because I left mine at home. I didn’t really expect to update this. But, something came over me I guess.
My grandma isn’t here though. I get the house to myself, and since it’s a one story double wide trailer (sorry, mobile home), I don’t feel so scared. I don’t feel watched. I feel safe, but there is still a lingering sense of paranoia here. I’m always expecting something terrible to happen.
And before you ask, yes. It sucks.
Living your life as if someone random asshole is gonna tap on your shoulder, and when you decide to turn around, they immediately punch you in the face before you even have a chance to blink, let alone react fucking blows. Perhaps my insistent anger is getting the best of me. Maybe my problem is that I’ve lived my life, day-after-day by my own bible, my own ten commandments of routine. And because of my indirect God-complex I subtly force the people that I care about to follow my own routine with me. Honestly, if you’re not stepping with your left foot first, what’s the point of walking in the first place?
I was laughing in pain as I typed those last two paragraphs. My apologies.
No offense but this update is like a teenager about to shoot up a school because he thinks he’s a ‘deep’ and ‘morally understanding’ teenager who’s gonna look back at this, and cringe at how pathetic he sounds. I, on the other hand, am a grown ass adult, in my 20’s going through this bullshit as my life gets torn up around me.
Anyways, enough with all of that.
I can keep going on and on with these tangents of my moral corruption and adamant self loathing, but I won’t.
Wait, hold on. I heard a door open.
11:32pm
I was hoping to have this finished before I went to bed, but I guess sleep is going to have to be delayed a little while longer.
But of course my paranoia was not for nothing, which is positive I guess because you wouldn’t believe what the fuck just happened.
The laundry room door is open. And It’s always locked when we aren’t using it, and I’m definitely not using it right now. So that’ fucking great!
I swear this thing is following me. I guess this was inevitable. I’ve been having some gruesome and vivid nightmares that I forgot to mention because it’s a dream, and if you know anything about remembering dreams, most of the time you don’t unless it swades your moral outlook of course.
As I’ve locked myself in the computer room, i’ve taken to asking myself a few questions.
What now?
Why did this happen?
What is different?
The best thing I can do right now is hide myself away until it ends. Do some research that I’ve been holding off on, and see if other people have experienced the same thing. Doubtful because I highly doubt that demons take people’s pets to take them to the animal shelter as a big “FUCK YOU!” There has to be a reason as to why they’re gone.
Of course my big question is if I had done something wrong. I never went to church growing up expcet a handful of times with friends that I went to school with. My mom was never the religious type, but always taught me to be respectful, and I have.
Maybe I should have gone to church more.
I still feel the fear from before. It’s not as intense though. Something feels different. Something in the atmosphere. But I can hear it. The footsteps of someone, or something lingering throughout the house.
I turned my head towards the window, and I can see the storm outside. I can see the rain droplets as they pass underneath the streetlights. But I can’t hear them as they patter on the roof. I feel the house with a roll of thunder, but I can’t hear it. Like I’m deaf to the outside world.
I hear the creaking of the footsteps as they stomp throughout.
It’s carpet, so it’s not so bad.
But I can still hear it.
It whispers my name. It’s so low, and the thing is so far away, but I can hear it next to me.
“Mitch.” It says, “Mitch.” It breathes.
I hear it going through the other rooms of the house. I hear it stomp through the master bedroom, the master bathroom. The doors for them are open. I hear it creep through the living room, and the kitchen, and then I finally hear it the loudest. It’s in the extra bathroom.
It stomps, but it’s so innocent in the way it does so. The voice, the thing. Isn’t so domineering. It’s patient in its cruelty to succumb my mind to fright. If it couldn’t get any louder though, its made its way up the hall towards me. Its facing the guest room, the only consistently closed door in the house apart from the laundry room.
“Mitch.”
I don’t hear the door open. It waits there for a few moments before turning to the computer room, the room that I’m in right now as I’m typing this.
I hear the breath on the door. A huff of impatience.
“Mitch.”
I think it’s found me. Maybe it’ll find its way in, and wisp me away to their glory.
Life is different, and hard. And terrible, and beautiful all at once. It’s a curse because you’re never quite sure as to how to feel about it.
I guess life is different when you’re being hunted though.