Paranoia, insomnia, tealeaves.

I took a shower today. I couldn't keep the shower curtain closed. Every time I closed my eyes I thought I heard something. I could hear something. Some kind of mechanical crackle, almost a chuckling sound. I didn't wash my hair because I'd have had to close my eyes to do that.

On the wall I could see my shadow. And then I'd see another shadow like there was someone there with me, but I'd turn around and the room would be empty. I'm still not sure if I was alone or not.

I haven't slept. I can't stand being in the darkness or closing my eyes. I always know there's something there.

I've been seeing him.

Never clearly. At the edge of my sight, a glimpse in the mirror, in between blinks. Sometimes I'll see him just as he takes a step out of sight, or his hand will be up as if he were about to wave.

He's a fucking monster. Some kind of abomination, I don't know. Dad won't listen to me. Keeps saying I need new medication.

I don't need pills, I need a crucifix. Or my gun back.

And someone else has this password, apparently. I don't know how they found that burned letter or why they put it up here, but it is in my handwriting. I vaguely remember writing it. I definitely remember going to that building with my mother.

I don't like the other shit they're putting up, either.

Coffee makes me nervous, so I've been drinking a lot of tea. The other day I tripped leaving the kitchen and my mug smashed on the floor. The gunk from the bottom of the cup formed this huge mucky puddle, so I went to get paper towels. When I came back to it a second later, there were markings in it.

I would've assumed my cat had just stepped in it, if the cat wasn't still missing. Or even still a cat anymore.

Kind of went through my Waite House journal with Alex an hour ago. I found something carved into the back of it that I don't think Alex noticed. It makes me want to stop trying to figure out what happened on the island.

Anyway, I gave Alex the comp book and told him to do whatever he wants with it. I figure he'll either burn it or scan the pages.

Do You Remember, John?

Rachel.

Freshman orientation was today, but my car wouldn't start. I don't know anything about cars, so I'm kind of at the mercy of my dad to get it fixed, since he won't let me work. I kind of suspect he has something to do with it not starting in the first place.

I didn't feel like staying home, though. My dad was at work and I had twenty dollars in my wallet, so I decided to walk into town. We live a few miles from anywhere I could buy anything, but I had time to kill, and I really wanted cigarettes even though my throat feels like someone went at it with barbed wire. This asthma is going to kill me someday.

To get to the road into town I have to go by this collapsed garage. Well, I suppose I could avoid it if I went through the dump, but fuck that. Anyway, I hate walking by there. It got totally wrecked during the tornadoes. Even thinking about that day makes me sick to my stomach, almost as bad as graduation.

Okay, okay, I'm stalling. The walk into town was uneventful, beyond the normal paranoid feeling I have when I'm on my own lately. The important part of today was, well, her.

I almost started crying when I saw her behind the counter. I hadn't seen her since graduation, I felt like someone had totally yanked the rug out from under me. And then I saw the dark circles under her eyes, and everything just came at me at once.

I remembered watching her boyfriend die.

I remembered putting my hand on her waist while we danced. Where was he then? Still there? Or was he already gone? Already cut open? Already sewn shut?

Kissing her in her car. Brushing my fingers across her bare knee.

David's mouth pressed tight, grey pus pooling on his chin.

Her lips were so cold.

I walked in. She didn't get angry, like I expected. Just serious. I said her name. I was crying, it was all I could say. I expected her to kill me, after everything Alex told me. But she didn't. She looked at me and she started crying too. I will never forget a word she said.

"John, you didn't do it, did you?"

I just shook.

"I didn't. I didn't know, I was angry. But now that I see you, oh God I'm so sorry John."

Then she came out from around the counter and we hugged. No one even looked at us funny. One death hits hard in a small town. She cried into my chest for my awhile and I told her I'd call her when I got home, but I know I won't. Not yet.

Of All The Torturers In Your Life

I Am The Cruelest

where's the knife, john?

The boy's republic.

Alex came over yesterday. My dad still doesn't want me going out, but he let Alex come over when I explained how destroying my social life wasn't going to make my condition any better.

It was a good day. I know this is unmanly to say, but I love Alex. I guess he's been reading everything I put up here for awhile now and he's been wringing his hands and making phone calls. He's a good friend.

Anyway, we mainly played Super Smash Bros. I'm not sure why, but that's one way I tend to communicate when I'm upset. While I was Falcon punching my way to victory, I told Alex about my week in Waite House, mostly about the poetry and staff. I left out the scary apocalyptic stuff. We took a break from the N64 to look through the journal they'd given me.

There's only three or four actual journal entries. The rest of it consists of poems and fragments. There's a lot in here I don't remember writing. Alex was fascinated by it. He offered to let me use the studio in his basement to record some spoken word. I think I might do that. We had a mini poetry slam and I read some of my work out loud and it just felt great. My dad didn't seem to like it, but he can go fuck himself. It makes me feel better, like I'm getting poison out of the wound.

Alex says I should put some of what I wrote on the blog. I'm not sure I'm ready to yet. Some of it is weird, and all of it is personal. I did record one poem on my camcorder, but I don't even know how to upload it.

The poems I'll probably put up or record somehow. The journal... I don't know. I don't know how much of it was hallucination and how much of it actually happened. Maybe it might help to get a fresh perspective on it, but it might be even better to just fucking forget about it.

I do know how to work the scanner.

I'm home.

My dad doesn't want me to say at Waite House anymore. I was only there about a week. I mostly wrote in composition books and did therapy sessions there, nothing exciting. They had me writing poetry as catharsis. It's kind of a hippie private hospital place for wealthy people who get addicted to heroin or cut themselves. My dad could afford it, because he's my dad.

It wasn't really the place for someone like me, but John seemed to think so. He seems to think I'm hiding something. Whatever, I doubt Dad will let me see him anymore. Leaving Conanicut was pretty fucking bad.

I don't really feel like thinking about it right now.

I see Alex still has my Blogger password. We were going to run the review site together. You can see how well that turned out.

I'm gonna call Alex later. Maybe I can see him tomorrow, if my dad lets me. I kind of need a friend right now, to be honest. I haven't really had someone to talk to as a friend this past week, and everything's been so fucked up and it's just been shrinks and cats talking to me and fuck I just want to play videogames with someone and relax. Or just have coffee and cigarettes and talk about the future with someone.

I was supposed to be having my graduation party last night.

I've started reading the Bible a lot. Dad won't let me go to church tomorrow. I might sneak out anyway. I don't think he hid my keys yet. I've been cooperative.

But I want to get my life back in order. And I can't do it cooped up in here, staring out the window looking for people who might be following me. I'm almost positive I'm being followed, but who is going to listen to me? My scars are barely scabbed over and I talk to cats.

There was this thing. When we were leaving the island.

It almost looked like a person, but it wasn't.

It was a monster trying to look like a person. I think that's what made it so horrible. The legs and the arms were too long, the figure too narrow and stretched. It was wearing a black suit, or it seemed to be. What skin I could see was pale.

I keep looking out the window.

I'm not sure what's worse. The ocean, or all these fucking trees.

oh "brother"

i came to your house to see what the fuck was going on with you and no one was even there. rachels been being a huge bitch about everything.l i called waite house five times and they wont let me through and i dont think any of my letters even made it to you.

your friends miss you. and they want answers.

i hope you actually see this man.

also, change your fuckin password.

Graduation.

I graduated from high school on Sunday.

It started off so exciting. Caps and gowns, sitting in the front row alongside the other class officers. That annoying Pomp and Circumstance shit blaring over the PA. Our chorus sang the national anthem, and I wondered if we were supposed to hold our caps over our hearts or something.

I saw Dave as we were walking in. He looked a little pale, but he was up and walking around. That seemed to contradict the worst of my fears.

As class president, I had to give a speech first. I had prepared two typewritten pages for the occasion. I was nervous, but I got over it as soon as I started speaking. I fell into a steady rhythm, even snuck a glance at Dave's girlfriend. I had just gotten to my G.K. Chesterton quote when I felt a hand on my shoulder. A smell like rancid shit curled into my nostrils. Someone in the crowd laughed. I turned.

It was Dave. He looked like hell. Veins were standing out on his neck and face and his skin was damp and grey. His eyes. His eyes looked at me, but they also seemed to be looking through me. Or they couldn't see anything at all. He looked like a corpse.

He opened up his mouth and puked black liquid all down the front of my gown, then fell to his knees retching. I took a step back in disgust and watched as he spasmed, tearing his gown completely off in his struggles. His shirt underneath was torn and I could see his chest. His skin was stained with sludgelike red blood. It looked like his abdomen was being held together with crude skitches made with a fucking bone needle.

He took a deep breath and started screaming horribly. A deep phlegmatic wail. Just one word. My name, over and over. It was all he would say until he died eighteen minutes later in the hospital.

They ended the ceremony. Diplomas and scholarships were mailed home.

I was questioned by teachers. Then policemen. Then EMTs.

All I could do was ask for my father. "Dad, dad, dad," over and over again. I didn't stop saying it until he put his arm around my shoulders and took me home.

I'm told I was catatonic most of Sunday. I can't really remember. A lot of people came to try and talk to me. I think I read some Punisher comics. I slept a lot, I remember that. And I dreamed. I woke up bleeding.

My dad kept me in bed all day Monday, and didn't let anyone see me. He had me talk to John on the phone about everything. I cried and told him how confused I was and all the stuff I'd been holding back. John told me it was going to be okay. I just needed to relax and I could get as much help as I needed. He asked if he should come over. I told him it was okay. He reminded me to call him if anything came up at all. I spent the rest of the day reading the book Pastor Paul gave me and trying to pray. It didn't work very well.

Last night as I was falling asleep I felt someone touch the back of my neck. I whipped around and in the yellow lamplight I saw a tall thin figure in the corner of my room. Then I passed out again. When I woke up at 3, there was no one in my room. I called John and stayed on the phone until it was light out.

John came over for breakfast. Him and my dad told me how they thought it might be a good idea for me to spend some time in a hospital. I wasn't sure. I got angry. They talked me down. In the end I agreed after John mentioned the gashes I'd found on my forearm.

I must have done them myself, but I can't remember it. I don't know.

They let me come on the computer for awhile to say 'bye to people, since I might not get a computer in the hospital.

They told me not to say anything about Dave or what had happened on Facebook. They didn't mention Blogger.

I'm not sure how long I'm going to be gone. I won't have a phone, my dad hasn't let me see mine since Sunday anyway. I'll try to write things down if I can.

I'll be back.

hung.

The thing is done.

Now the sword can sleep.

Ooh-rah.

The past three days.

I probably should've written about everything as soon as it happened. I guess my first instinct isn't always to run straight to the computer when bad things happen. I'm calm enough and aware enough now to go over it all in my head. So I will.

Thursday

We had the senior banquet. Dave drove me and I left my car at Sid's. Well, near Sid's. There's a nice circle full of abandoned buildings that we leave our cars in when Sid's not supposed to have people over. I had to sleep there one time.

Anyway.

The banquet had good food, and a dj. Dave and Sid had smoked a blunt in the car and I think it got me a little stoned. Maybe not, but I was feeling out of it at the banquet. And Dave's girlfriend looked beautiful. I had a crush on her, before she was Dave's girlfriend. I danced with her. I don't think Dave saw. I don't think Dave saw that time.

I had the dj dedicate a song to her. That was stupid. Dancing with her was one thing, but this was just undeniably fucking stupid. It was her favorite song. Dave's girlfriend thought Dave had dedicated the song to her. They'd been having a fight, and it seemed like the most perfectly goddamn adorable thing for him to do to try and reconcile with her. She cried.

I didn't even think of that. I didn't even think of her assuming that. I don't know how. Of course she would assume it was Dave.

Dave realized it was me. I don't know how. He asked to talk to me outside. Not in an angry way. He was serious, but he didn't seem mad, I remember that.

What I don't remember is what happened outside the banquet hall. The last thing I remember is following Dave through the door and staring at his stupid cowboy boots and reaching into my pocket.

I know I should remember. But I can't figure out if I blacked out or not. I didn't lose time. At least, I don't remember losing time. I didn't blink and find myself inside. I just can't remember. I've been trying to think of what me and Dave talked about for two days and I know something happened, the details are just beyond me. They're like a dream that slipped away upon wakening.

So I can't remember shit. Nothing new there. What bothers me is the last thing I do remember: reaching into my pocket. Sid's gift was in my pocket.

The thing he got from his brother. The knife.

Dave must've gone home or something after that because I haven't seen him since.

I asked his girlfriend to drive me to my car while we were dancing. I was too honest with her on the ride home, I don't think she appreciated it. I drove myself home and stayed up all night watching public access channels and smoking cigarettes my dad thought I didn't know he had.

Friday

I slept fine, but I was exhausted in the morning for some reason. I had to go to senior's last assembly and give a speech. I wrote it that morning. It went well. I got more applause than I expected to. Everyone told me I did well.

It was a good day, actually. I was just kind of surprised Dave wasn't there.

No one wanted to hang out after the assembly. Alex had a date with Sabrina, Sid had to have his septic tank pumped or something. So I went home, took more of my pain medication than I should have and drank my dad's beer. I knew he'd notice, but I didn't care.

Dad called around five, said he had to work late that night. Shouldn't wait up for him, order some Chinese.

I should note: beer and Chinese food do not mix well. As I was tossing some of the empties into our big bag in the basement, I puked a small stream of pisswarm Coors Light onto the aluminum. As I was wiping my mouth I noticed my cat staring at me from the corner of the room. My cat's name is George.

George's eyes flash like motherfuckers in the dark. They usually flash green, though, because his eyes are green. They were flashing blue now though, a bright piercing blue.

"George, what's up."

George meows a lot. It's like having a conversation with Chewbacca or something.

He didn't meow, though. He lumbered over all fat and black and shook his head at me. He shook his head like a person signing "no". Just like a person. I reeled back and tried to ignore the way he was looking at me. The way his eyes seemed older than mankind. Predatory.

I tried to play it off cool. "You're a fatass, George."

And then the cat opened his mouth and fucking spoke to me.

I wish I was kidding.

His voice was like Patrick Stewart crossfaded with Treebeard: "You are mistaken."

I admit, in hindsight I really wish I had decided to say something rational and ask a question or something. A conversation with my cat might have been enlightening at this point. But I didn't.

I screamed and ran out of there. I spent all night in the closet with a comforter around my shoulders and my rifle in my hands. I haven't seen George yet. I am not sure if I will speak to him when I do see him, or if I will shoot him.

Saturday

I haven't spoken to my dad yet. I haven't even been awake at the same time as him since Wednesday. I don't know what to tell him. Or where to start. I spent all day driving around aimlessly in Worcester, stopping in diners and banks, and then spent the evening sitting on the goddamn computer. I was watching some weird videogame webcast earlier that got interrupted by some old trippy video and the audio cut out. That's been the extent of the excitement.

It's 1:33 AM now. Its technically Sunday, I guess.

I graduate from high school later today.

I have to give a speech there too.

Sid gave me a gift.

Can't believe the superintendent didn't cancel school today. Some people can't get out of their driveways around here, and Southbridge is still all torn up.

I had grad rehearsal, too. Then me and Alex went straight to Sid's. We hung out there, then went and got Taco Bell.

There's this drink at Taco Bell. We always have it. Mountain Dew Baja Blast. You can only find it at Taco Bell. We never order anything else when we're there, and we only go to Taco Bell, so it's all we drink.

I drove us home. I think. I remember driving too fast and yelling at Sid and then I think I was alone in the car for a bit, and it was weird. There were no other cars on the road, and the road seemed more twisted than usual. I mean, I am in rural Massachusetts, oh land of hills and windy trails, but the road was twisting like a corkscrew and the telephone poles were all jutting out at awkward, irregular angles. And I drove so fast. Every corner was a near miss. I didn't check the speedometer.

Then Sid's in the front seat and he's laughing with me about something but I'm not really laughing, just coughing, and I hear Sid start to sound worried.

I got us home okay. I assume. I'm here now and Sid's not here, so I guess I drove him home.

I think I was driving.

All I can think of is something Alex said today: "The best times in life are when you almost lose control."

The banquet is tonight. I'm wearing my suit, red tie. Mouth's feeling better. Still not sure if I'm ready to take on a steak, though.

I need a fucking cigarette.

"Wash the day off of me,"

Went on the class trip today. Felt like it might be good for me, even if I didn't feel like going. We went to an amusement park.

To Six Flags.

Six Flags New England.

In Springfield.

We got there early in the day. Went on the good coasters early, most of them twice. Got the blood flowing. We hit all the spots. We ran out of things to do. We were wishing for a reason to go home early.

We got a tornado warning.

No one took it seriously, at first. There hasn't been a dragon in these parts in a thousand years. Why worry about it? Some people got too worked up over clouds. This was New England. We know about the rain.

The staff seemed to be taking it seriously.

We decided this was a good enough time to leave. As we were going to the buses, we started hearing things, like that a tornado had touched down in Springfield. I said "oh, Springfield."

I remembered stopping in Springfield on the Amtrak one time and encountering various interesting homeless people. I had an amusing anecdote to share.

Then someone said, "We're in Springfield."

The staff didn't exactly want us to leave. They said we could, but they also offered to let us take shelter in the buildings. We wanted to leave.

So we did.

So we drove through Springfield right after the tornado did. We saw cars overturned, trees uprooted, buildings torn to pieces.

So we watched the windows like hawks.

So we recorded ourselves with video cameras and called our parents and girlfriends to say I love you.

If we had left a little earlier. Or a little later.

I almost felt like I had trouble staying awake.

I can only remember the ride home in flashes.

Flash one: I am looking at a building that has had its roof ripped off. I'm fumbling with my backpack.

Flash two: I'm zooming in on a cloud in the distance on my camcorder. Everyone around me is exclaiming nervously.

Flash three: We're driving past a horde of sirens and flashing lights.

Flash four: I'm at the school on the phone telling him he needs to talk to the principal about me driving home.

Flash five: I'm arguing with a cop about being let onto the warzone my road has been turned into.

I got home.

It was still there.

I feel like I've had my skin torn off and the wind is pulling at the exposed flesh and muscle.

I've been trying to calm down. Stop the flow of adrenaline. Stop watching the news.

I lowered my body into the lukewarm bath and sat and slapped water onto my neck and chest. I remember exactly what I said to myself.