Hello everyone, Paige here. As most of you know, I’m John’s girlfriend. I’m not going to really say much about his personal life, except what seems important to share. He deserves that much at least after what he’s been through.
It’s been a couple weeks since what he wrote hit the internet, and I’m naming this update the same thing to connect the two posts together. I’ve also gone ahead and linked to the previous post to for ease of access. You can find it right at the top. Furthermore, due to how this website works, I have to split up this update into two parts. I’ve included the link to the second part of this update at the end of this post.
I’ll admit, I was really shaken up after what happened the day we had called. A part of me doesn’t even want to write this, but he was adamant. It was like he was demanding me to do it; John doesn’t demand anyone to do anything.
Some important information to share, I think, is that John and his family have always been religious. In fact, that’s partially why we met. Our family’s have been friends for most of our lives because his and I’s older sisters went to the same school. I didn’t personally know him well until a few years ago, but I was one of the people who got the update when he first got Pepsi and Cali. He talked for hours about them- little things like their breed, their personalities, and how happy he was to have them. It was endearing and gave me a bit of insight into what kind of person he was. I’d like to think I was right, since he hasn’t proven me wrong in the year and a half we’ve been dating.
He had mentioned briefly to you all that his family and him used to have issues, but they’ve made a lot of progress recently. I think him being off in college and his parents getting therapy really helped smooth things over. I’m no contact with everyone in my family except my oldest sister. John’s parents and sister have been nothing but kind to me since we started dating. Currently, I have an apartment about an hour and a half from his parent’s house, and three hours from his university in Dallas. I also have a cat myself, named Bezos. Trust me, I know it’s a bit of an odd name for a cat, but it’s the only thing she ever responds to.
When John hung up on me, something was obviously wrong. He always tries to humor me as I stall to get as much time as possible when he says he has to leave. At the very least, he’ll go through a little saying that we do back and forth. That day, he didn’t even say he loved me before hanging up and assuring me he’d call later. I could tell there was fear in his voice, something that I’ve rarely heard from him. I knew whatever he found had really shaken him up and decided to give him a bit of time before trying to get some answers. We also always call before midnight, so when I still hadn’t heard from him around that time, I started to assume the worst. I knew better than to try calling him, but I did send him a barrage of texts asking what was going on and if he was okay.
While he didn’t text me that night, he did activate and deactivate his Do Not Disturb settings. That at least let me know he was getting my texts, but I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just text me back. I’d like to think I’m not a very clingy or distrusting girlfriend, but I did check his location a few times that night just to make sure something else wasn’t happening. I feel quite a bit of shame for even considering it, but it would’ve been far better than what actually was happening.
I didn’t hear from him until the next day, around noon. When he called me, I could tell he was driving by the ambient sounds in the background. Immediately, I started asking anything and everything that was on my mind. What was going on? What was in the attic? Why had he disappeared for almost an entire day? Why did he sound so afraid?
He let me air out all my curiosity before calmly explaining everything he had left you all in his post. I’ll spare you the details of my reaction, since I’m assuming it was very similar to all of yours. The only difference was I also personally loved these cats. Pepsi and Cali are part of what caused John and I to begin dating, and I owed a part of our relationship to them. They had always been warm and lovely cats, and to know they laid dead for God knows how long in an attic, in a condition like that? It broke my heart hearing about what all happened; I can’t imagine how it must’ve been for him. Those cats were his absolute world, and I know that it must’ve more than broken him.
John further explained he was en route to a local restaurant, though he didn’t tell his family where he was planning to eat. Somehow, he managed to spend the entire night awake, just staring at what he believes is his childhood pet, who you all know to be Tux. Neither of his current cats showed any signs of aggression throughout the entire ordeal, but I’m not sure if that did anything to comfort him. Tux disappeared into the darkness sometime around five in the morning, spending the night whispering that same phrase to John. I don’t know how he did it, just listening to his own voice the entire time tell him something that no one aside from me should’ve heard.
When I asked John what he was going to do next, he was just quiet for a little bit. Every few seconds, I would check to make sure he hadn’t disconnected. He’d reassure me he was thinking each time, but there was an uncomfortable amount of silence to realize he didn’t really have a plan. The best he could offer was to try and confront his parents about what he saw and see if they knew anything. Although, he mentioned he wasn’t sure how soon he could do so, since he didn’t want to risk asking them in the house for fear that one or all of the cats would hear. Admittedly, I didn’t grasp the full danger of the situation right away, but I still told him to be careful and update me when he had more information. Unfortunately, I had to work soon and needed to get ready. I reminded him of my schedule and that I closed tonight, and the conversations died down from there as he was arriving at the restaurant.
After hanging up the phone and getting ready, I went to the local coffee shop where I work and clocked in for my shift. I guess my coworkers could tell something was up, but none of them directly asked what the issue was. I certainly didn’t offer it and wasn’t sure if I could even explain it if they asked. Even now, I’m not sure I quite get everything that’s happened.
At a point during my shift, I took a break to eat some of the pastries in the shop. When I checked my phone, it was a picture of John laying on the couch with Pepsi and Cali. I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening from the photo, but he sent another text that captioned the picture, which read “Aren’t they so cute?? Also, My parents and I are watching a movie so we’ll be in all night.”
I took the hint and texted him back, letting him know I understood and to have a great time with his family. I didn’t think we were at any real harm to text about what was happening, and to be honest I didn’t know how much of what he told me was even actually real. John isn’t the type to lie about something like this, and he definitely wouldn’t do something like ghost me all night. But c’mon, how much of this was I realistically expected to take seriously? He talked to me sometimes about Tux and his other dogs, especially Gizmo. John and I weren’t ever close while he was alive, so I never got to meet him. I just know that dog meant a lot to him, and so did these cats.
I didn’t hear back from John that night, nor any at all the next day. I had passed out well into the morning, since I work the closing shift, and he works an 8-5. It wasn’t weird for me to not hear from him in the morning, but he usually eats out for lunch at restaurants near his office and calls me on the way. When I hadn’t heard anything from him, I started to worry again. In fact, I didn’t hear anything from him until way later into the evening, when he called me, almost on the verge of freaking out. I only believe what he told me because he had photographic evidence to back up what he said.
Apparently, after finishing up the movie with his parents, he told them He’d be going to bed early that night and went upstairs. Aside from this, he went to go check that the bodies were still in the closet, which they were. How he managed to do so without bawling his eyes out, I have no idea. By this point, he confined the cats entirely to the office, closing both doors to the bathroom as a precaution. This wasn’t unusual for him, as sometimes Pepsi and Cali would run and play back and forth late at night and prevent him from getting sleep. When they would inevitably get upset at the closed door, as most cats do, they would meow and force their paws under the slits until John would cave and let them back in. This time, though, words and whispers could be heard and no paws greeted him from beneath the door. A new phrase was barely audible tonight, which made his and my blood run cold. Once again in his voice, he heard “Aren’t they so cute?” Over and over again until his exhaustion forced him to sleep.
It’s understandable that he passed out. I mean, he had been up for almost 48 hours by this point. When he woke up to his usual alarm at six, though, both doors to the bathroom had opened. Terrified, he searched the room to find Pepsi and Cali staring at him from the headrest-shelves of his bed. Panicking, he jumped out and locked himself in the bathroom, though not before checking in the shower to make sure he was entirely alone. After staying in the bathroom as long as possible, he broached opening the door to his room to find the cats laid along the edge of the bed, eyes locked on him. Never taking his gaze off them for more than a few minutes, he stole some work clothes from his closet and got ready for the day.
I don’t know how to accurately describe why or how this next part is so disturbing, but it’s what really convinced me that something was dangerously wrong.
When John finally got the courage to walk downstairs, what greeted him at the couch was probably the last sight he expected to see. There, on the couch, was his father petting Tux. Not the mangled, decaying corpse he had seen in the office, but the same cat he had last seen over a decade ago. John’s parents are both busy-bodies, always doing this or that around the house. So, to find his father still sitting on the couch so close to the time they both would need to leave for their respective jobs, was enough to surprise anyone. For Tux to be there too, just laying with him, purring, was almost too much for him to take.
As he stepped down the stairs, he noticed how his father kept an unnatural grin across his face, feigning a look of what he only described as ecstasy. It was like if someone won the lottery or got proposed to, that kind of excitement but plastered on a still face. His dad made no sound as John approached him. Not a “Hello,” or a “How’re are you?”, or even a “Good morning.” He just stared emptily at John, and John back to his father. Neither of them were going to break the silence, but a small whisper caught his attention from the master bedroom. From a small crack he had seen his mom’s face and heard Molly’s collar, who both seemed as distraught as him. Slowly, he moved away from his father until he reached the bedroom, locking the door behind him.
According to John’s mom, she was awoken in the middle of the night to her husband kicking Molly across the floor. Immediately, she screamed at him to stop and put herself between the dog and the man. While the face John had seen was one of pure bliss, the look his mom had seen was nothing short of rage. His dad’s face had apparently contorted inward, with an exaggerated frown and glare that rivaled that of a deformed clown. The man kept a loaded pistol in his bedside drawers, but John’s mom positioned herself closer to the furniture. When she threatened him, John’s father simply turned around and walked to the bathroom. She watched as he changed into a full business suit, something he rarely, if ever, wore to his job. As he made his way back out towards the door, he ignored her completely, walking straight out and into the living room.
Ever since Gizmo died, Molly has had a special place in John’s Dad’s heart. That man loves that dog, and it’s difficult to believe he would strike Molly of his own choice. Both John and his mother were shocked about what happened, and weren’t sure what to do with his father. He told me that Molly seemed in good enough shape, and able to still move around as she usually does. She’s an older dog suffering from the same health issues Gizmo had, but still holding strong despite her age.
John asked his mom if she knew anything about Tux, but she refused to answer him- or, at least, seemed unwilling to do so. He told me that she seemed more nervous about that question than anything else. Before he could press her for information, both were startled by a sharp, clapping sound. It was a pattern both recognized: two whole notes, then three half, staccato notes. It was something his dad had done for years, especially when beginning to start a task. They both heard John’s dad leave the couch and walk towards the kitchen. It was almost the time that both he and his dad would leave for work; they would drive together since their work offices were within walking distance. Since he had no sick days with his summer internship, John felt he had no choice but to go to work.
Now, if you’re like me, you’re probably wondering why John didn’t just uber to work or drive himself. When I asked him, he told me he needed to talk with his father, hoping to see if he regained some sense of self around others. I felt this was a dumb reason, but I also wasn’t the one having to make these decisions in the heat of the moment.
Sharply, he had told his mom that they would talk about this more when he got home. Of their final words before he left, he mentioned that the last thing he told her was to stay away from Tux. I think, by this point, his grief and fear was slowly turning into an annoyance. When he stormed out of the room, he refused to look at the cat still laying on the couch. He instead turned his gaze up the stairway, to the two cats peering down from the top step. Averting his eyes did little to shield him from the mimicking tone of the tuxedo cat, whispering to him playfully something he could only assume was from the confrontation last night. John didn’t think there were many other scenarios the creature would’ve heard his mom say, “Get out before I grab that gun.”
His father, who had made a mess of the coffee machine, stood by the kitchen island with a half full cup and burns spotting along his hand. The same, twisted smile remained on his face, seemingly unaltered despite how painful the scalding coffee would’ve been to his skin. Finally braving up to the quiet, John asked his father if he was ready to go.
“Oh, boy! It’s going to be a great day! I tell you, it’s just going to be a great day!”
That was the only exchange between him and his father that morning. I know that phrase well; it’s what John’s father would say every morning, much like the clapping rhythm. He told me he felt little more than disgust and a refreshed terror in that moment, but still chose to follow his father out to the car.
The ride to work was a quiet one - like I mentioned, both John and his family are religious. The two would often listen to devotionals on the way to the office, or otherwise talk with each other through weekly plans, thoughts, or general information. Both remained entirely quiet the entire way, though, until they sat stopped in the parking garage of his dad’s office building. You see, John’s dad would always drop him off near the curb of his own office, and pick him up at the same location when the work day was done. Today, though, they had parked after an oddly uneventful car ride a good four blocks from where John works. He told me he ran as fast as he could- whatever was happening was not going to cost him his internship.
I know for a lot of you, his obsession with making it to work may seem odd, or even delusional. While John and his family are well off, he’s trying to make it through college without any debt or loans. While scholarships cover a lot, he still attends a private university that charges a pretty penny. Recently, we’ve been discussing what our futures look like, especially together as a couple. We’ve recently settled into a place of comfortability with each other and both agree we’re committed to making this thing work. Each week that he gets paid, about 75% of his paycheck immediately goes to saving for college and a fund for after, just to make sure he has something to support himself- I’m doing the same, with the hope that we may eventually be able to support each other, together. Aside from this, I’m sure John would’ve done anything to be out of that house for a while.
Everything at his office seemed normal, which he told me was one of the biggest reliefs of his life. Though thoughts of home and his family plagued his mind, he appreciated the small reprieve from everything the last couple of days had thrown at him. He worked busily until his lunch break came up, and a part of him wanted to just go have a normal lunch. However, he felt like curiosity would eat him from the inside out. After clocking out and taking a light jog down to his father’s building, he went up and through the many hallways until arriving at his father’s work office. One terrified look from his usually chipper assistant told John all he needed to know about what he was walking into. Still, he knocked on the door and slowly slipped into the office - and there his dad was, sitting in the chair, facing away from the blank desktop computer and towards the door with that disgusting smile on his face.
This is how John told me their conversation went:
“Hey dad, mind if I join you for lunch?”
Silence.
“Did you bring anything from home? I didn’t, but I don’t usually so I guess that isn’t a surprise.”
Silence.
“Does your hand hurt? It doesn’t look like you’ve cleaned it from this morning.”
Silence.
By this point, John was more than creeped out. Sliding into a chair across the desk from his father, he asked the one question he knew he shouldn’t have
“Why did you keep Tux’s body in a plastic bag?”
Slowly, John told me, his father’s stretched features relaxed into a neutral, blank stare. Regaining some focus, the dad’s eyes seemed to focus on his son. Apparently, it was difficult to tell what was happening behind that gaze. I think John had described it as a look of everything and nothing, all at the same time. It was like that thing that stared at him was both not his father, but as much as his father as anything had ever been.
“What, son?”
He shuddered at the words. There was something deeply wrong with the way his father spoke.
“When I found Tux dead under your bed, you kept him in a plastic bag in your office. Back at the house in-“
“No!”
His father slammed his hands violently against his desk repeatedly, screaming the same word over and over again. While John had said his entire family denied there ever being a bag with a body in it, no one had ever gotten this worked up about it. He said his father’s movements were loose but sharp, and it was more like the limbs were swung up and down, like a really bad puppet show. Or, rather, like his dad was copying an animated cartoon with over-the-top movements. The impossible face of wrath had also returned, leaving John more than horrified of what sat before him.
After about a minute, the shouting subsisted. His father still shot him a glare with his solemn and spiteful expression, but the man had gone eerily quiet. That’s the way John described it, like not a single noise could be heard from his dad, even breathing. He did assure me he saw the distinct movement of his father’s chest, though.
“There was no plastic bag with a body in it, then?”
When John asked this, his father’s frown literally turned upside down. He described it to me as if ever muscle inverted on itself in an instant. His mouth curved upwards; his cheeks spreading and stretching further than his face; his eyes squinted and bare; eyebrows almost too far up into his forehead.
“There you go!”
That’s all the father had to say, yet again another one of his signature phrases usually repeatedly throughout the day. The limited vocabulary creeped John out enough, but it was like his father could only respond with words he said the most.
John wanted to stay and ask more in the safety of a public office building, but knew his lunch break was nearly finished. He still had to get back to his own desk, and unwillingly cut their conversation short.
After exiting the office, John told me that he and the assistant exchanges knowing glances, but didn’t say anything. They had met a couple times and she knew he was her boss’s son. The only thing he did was shake his head knowingly. I mean, what could he even have told her?
Likewise, he spent the rest of the day with his head down, working until 5 rolled around. Walking through the lobby, he wasn’t surprised that his father wasn’t parked outside his building like he normally was. For the fourth time that day, John ran back to his father’s building and into the parking garage. Unfortunately, his dad’s car was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, he ran back up to where his father was only to find the office empty.
The assistant startled him- he said he didn’t scream, but when I asked him if he did, it was obvious he was lying. John asked her where his father had gone, and she informed him that not long after he had left, she had gotten a call from John’s mom. asking to be transferred to her husband.
Apparently, whatever John had heard in his father’s voice, this assistant heard too in the woman’s. They both affirmed each other that it was more like an imitation at speech than actually talking, a memorized answer to a test. Shortly after the call, John’s father had left the office, which meant he had been home for over a few hours. He didn’t know if what was happening to his dad was also happening to his mom, but he felt an obligation to go home and check. At the very least, he needed to make sure Molly was okay.
So, John caught an uber home, much to his own personal annoyance, and arrived at his driveway half an hour later. He had mentioned that the door to the front entrance was left open ever so slightly, enough to where he could peek in to see most of the house without entering. I don’t have to imagine what he saw when he looked in; he had taken a photo for me and his sister, Lizzy. I think he mentioned her in his last post.
No lights were on in the house, which was very odd for them. It was like nothing in the house had been touched all day, aside from a broken lego ship John had built, which crashed into thousands of pieces in the living room. It’s easy to see there was some kind of struggle, but it’s impossible to tell just what happened. The couch was L shaped, with the longer side facing a mounted TV and the short positioned towards the front door. Both of his parents sat on the shorter side, looking at John from their seats, with that black and white cat resting between them. You could tell in the photo they knew he was there- it looked like their eyes were specifically focused on the phone’s camera, too.
It’s really difficult to do justice just how horrifying and distorted their faces were. Imagine a caricature, but drawn poorly. It was like a child creating their rendition of a demon. The eyes were sunk deep into the recesses of their faces, widened and propped open. A sickening black made it look like the pupils were entirely dilated, and white enveloped everything else, staining into a bloodshot red towards the tips that faded into skin. Lines and scrunches divided the eyes from the noses, which themselves seemed too small for their faces. Toothy, open smiles showed whatever skull rested under its covering was far too big for its shell. It almost seemed they needed to keep their mouth open because maybe if they didn’t, their lips would snap. It was as heartbreaking as it was terrifying to see; these people had taken me in and loved me when my own parents hadn’t.
John told me that, after taking the photos, he slowly entered his home and approached where the couple sat. Standing at the opposite end, this is the conversation they had:
“Son!”
“Yes, mom?” Replied John, hesitantly.
“We need to talk.”
“I think so too.”
To that, the woman shook her head up and down sporadically, as if she had no real control over the motion. John took this as a chance to continue.
“Do you remember our conversation earlier?”
No answer.
“Do you remember what I told you to do?”
Still no answer.
“Did you stay away from Tux?”
“Sweet Kitty!”
John’s mom yelled this over and over again, “Sweet kitty,” even over the beginnings of a new sentence. He tried to calmly introduce a new topic for a few minutes before finally losing his cool.
“Tux died when I was like eight, mom!”
This only served to upset both of his parents, with his father adding to the monotonous cacophony of “Sweet Kitty.”
Both faces contorted to deeply angled, painful looking frowns. John had taken another couple photos of this for me, and I could see the subtle changes of their mouths between the snapshots.
The camera only served to make matters worse, as the two stood up and slowly started walking towards him. He had turned and ran, something he says he thinks may have been for the better, however cowardly it may have been. Shortly after leaving the house and getting to his car was when he had called me to give an update on everything that had happened.
I stayed quiet through most of the call, just trying to make sense of everything. He’s a bit of a rambler and lost track through a lot of it. Looking at his previous post, I’m surprised at how on track he stayed. When I asked where he was going or planning to stay, he just said he’d crash at his sister’s. He wasn’t sure if she’d know anything, much less if she’d believe him if she didn’t; Lizzy was still his best bet for a safe night’s rest.
After arriving at her house, he hung up with me, but not before I could make him promise to be safe a couple hundred times. He sent me the photos shortly after, more than likely as he was showing them to his sister and Roger. Another text later confirmed that she did believe him and, more importantly, knew something crucial.
The reason John’s family was so secretive about Tux dying wasn’t necessarily because of his young age. Lizzy had apparently gotten a good look at the body when the parent’s managed to remove it from beneath their bed. Claw marks, deep wounds, shattered bones- you name it, Tux’s body had it. It was a gruesome scene that definitely suggested a struggle. He hadn’t just died from something like old age; he was killed, viciously. And, to make matters worse, no one had any idea what had done this to the poor family pet.
The parents decided to keep the body and take it in for inspection. The local vet was closed for a few days due to a family emergency, and no where else would take them without insurance. John’s family wasn’t the most financially stable back in the day, at least not like they are now. In the meantime, the dad hid the body in a plastic bag in his office and charged John not to enter without permission.
Lo and behold, that’s exactly what he had done the next day, finding the corpse ruffled and covered in plastic. The rest of the family, mortified, quickly assured him he was seeing things. John’s father had immediately gone to hide the bag, but was shocked to have found it empty. He scoured the entire office but found no trace of the animal. Though it never quite sat right with them, Lizzy and the parents eventually gave up on finding the corpse. They searched every inch of that old home and found nothing; what more could they have done, especially without tipping off John to what was really happening?
Lizzy confirmed what we were most afraid of: that cat, easily seen in the photos, was most definitely Tux. There was no doubt about it for either of them, no matter how impossible it seemed. She and Roger told John he was more than welcome to stay as long as he needed with them, but that she wanted to visit the parents herself as soon as reasonably possible. Though disturbed by the amalgamated faces, those were still her parents too. John agreed to return with her, while Roger stayed home with their two dogs.
His night ended shortly after as we called for a few minutes. He updated me on all that had been discussed, and said he was getting to sleep early. It was somewhere around 8:30 when we hung up, but I didn’t get to sleep until much later. Something tells me he didn’t either, but I was proud of him for trying. Though, on the other hand, he was probably exhausted from the adrenaline.
Here is where I’ll link to the next post. Please, if you’ve read this far, continue reading in the second update and hold all comments for the end of that post. I appreciate it, and I know John does too.