My name is Victoria Simmons, and I am writing this in the protective custody of the county officials in my state. I will be moved to a new location tomorrow; thus, I am writing this now while I still can. This writing/confession is my entire recollection of what happened between November 10th and 11th. Apparently, between 11 pm on November 10th and 11 pm on November 11th, I committed several felonies and broke many laws. I do not recall this happening, but many witnesses and cameras caught my “actions.” I am writing this hoping someone will believe me, come forward and tell the truth. Even if that does not happen, I hope to clear my name.
It was late at night; late enough, all the other tenants in my apartment complex were already asleep. I had had a few edibles the hour before, so I was sitting at a low high, relaxing and working on different projects I needed to get finished for work.
I am a freelance artist who makes a living off commission-based jobs, usually making logos or banners for people’s social media pages. I was working on a profile picture for someone, creating an elaborate collage of lines, art, and colour on my drawing pad. It looked perfect. I have always had a knack for art, so this was an excellent job that, while not paying exceptionally well, was pleasant and satisfying with each job’s completion.
I was almost finished with the drawing when I got a phone call. I saved my work, spamming control ‘S’ multiple times before picking up my phone, expecting to see my mother’s name. For clarification, my mom and some of my friends live a few states over, so I sometimes get a late-night call from one of them when it is suppertime for them.
Instead, it was my dad’s name.
My dad calling me is severely odd, honestly more worrisome than normal. He had never called me, leaving it up to me who would call him. So for him to contact me, I should expect bad news in any normal situation. But this was no ordinary situation. There was no way he was calling me.
I am dealing in absolutes because he recently got into a fatal car crash, killing him on impact.
So this phone call was both odd and sad because it was something he would never have done, something he would never have even thought of doing. So, while I was intrigued and emotional, I knew damn well that someone else would speak to me, a scammer even. But still, I picked up the phone and put it to my head, answering and talking to the caller.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Vic,” my dad’s voice responded, “is this a bad time?”
Hearing his voice seriously broke my heart and honestly confused the shit out of me further. I was in disbelief as I held the phone with a shakey hand, weighing my options and figuring out my words, silent for a few moments. I sniffled and attempted to clear my throat as I spoke.
“Dad?” I spoke in disbelief, trying to hide my emotions and sound brave, “I-is that you?”
“Yea,” he stated in an unfazed and almost concerned tone, “if it’s a bad time, I can always call back if a few.”
I immediately spoke up, trying to sound undisturbed, “No, no, I’m not busy; I just finished working. I-I~ what’s up?”
Everything else was a blur, a moment of confusion and joy. I talked to him about everything I had accomplished, the things I had made. I sent numerous pictures of my art, and he commented on them! It was like a fever dream. I didn’t acknowledge that he was gone; I thought I had a unique experience, somehow finding and opening a gateway to the dead.
We talked for a near four hours. Dad told me he got a call in, so he had to head out. I begged and pleaded for him not to go, but he told me we could talk later. I told him to promise, and he did before hanging up, leaving me in disbelief.
I sat, staring at my phone for hours, completely shocked. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I have heard stories of miraculous contact with the dead but never thought of it. Anything can be faked or made up, so I didn’t ever have faith in it. But this was something different, complete proof and genuine through my eyes until I looked at the time.
He had called me at 11 pm on November 10th, talking to me for about four hours and twenty-five minutes. After, when I looked at the time, it was still 11 pm. It was confusing and odd, so I looked at my phone, and it was 11 pm on it too. It didn’t hit me for a few moments, but once I looked closer at my phone, I noticed the date.
It was the next day.
How the fuck does an entire day zoom past me? I didn’t talk to him for that long, but looking at the clock, it was unmistakably the next day. It makes no sense to me. I did not understand it, and as I looked around, it was as if a filter had fallen from my eyes.
There was blood everywhere. My hands were covered in red liquid, coating my shirt and hair and drying on my arms. I screamed, terrified at whatever the hell this was. I didn’t understand it; I do not understand it. I know I am pointing out the obvious, but I have no idea where the hell the blood came from. There was enough blood around me that would have been enough to kill me if it were from me. I looked around franticly, hearing sirens, seeing knives, guns, and body parts surrounding me. There was so much gore, so much happening at once, but nothing to explain.
Then the police kicked in the door and threw me to the ground.
I was cleaned up a few hours later and put into an interrogation room. A few officers came in and started asking me questions. Blaming me for so many crimes, claiming I had been on a murder spree. They told me I had committed twenty-five murders in the past twenty-four hours.
I killed twenty-five people. I couldn’t believe this accusation; hell, I couldn’t believe any of this.
I gave them my alibi, which had so many holes that it was laughable. They kept disproving anything I said in retort and proof I would provide. They were so sure that it was me that it was obvious that there was no doubt. Finally, after a never-ending scream fest, they gave me security camera pictures and witness reports.
Every single one of them described me or showed me. Even a good security camera showed that I was the culprit. I looked empty, dead. It Looked like me, but it was as if it was missing a soul. It appeared almost like I had snapped and gone on a rampage, but none of that happened. I would have remembered it, even vaguely.
I can type this because they gradually realized I had no recollection of anything happening. If I am being honest, no one knows what happened. I am currently in a cell and was only allowed my phone. Please tell me if you can help me describe my situation better. As I said, I will be moved to a new location tomorrow, so I hope this finds you well.
I know this is abrupt, but I do not have a better explanation or words to describe what happened. I am at a loss for words and am scared. Please help me.