I woke up around seven last night. Normal wake up time. After the past few months, I don’t sleep for more than two or three hours at a time so I just nap whenever I’m tired as opposed to a nightly bedtime. I stopped hearing that music even when it shows up to play peek a boo so I can’t say that’s what wakes me up these days. I think maybe it gave up on that aspect of torturing me, around the same time that I got kidnapped by Tom actually. Anyway, I don’t wake up hearing it anymore, but my body is still trained at this point to wake up at the slightest noise or just feeling that something might be off.
Last night it was that off feeling. I wish I could explain it better. There was no goose bumps, hairs standing up on the back of my neck, none of those little signs that the horror novels like to use. All I had was a feeling that things had gotten worse. And considering how badly things have gone in the past few months, this was not a welcome feeling.
I got out of bed and grabbed the knife that I’ve started keeping with me. For the info of any its pets that might be reading this blog, I keep all kinds of toys around my house lately that would be detrimental to your health if you decide to try and break in.
I took the knife and started flicking on lights, trying to find out what had caused me to wake up. Didn’t see anything until I got downstairs where my favorite stalker stood in front of my picture window, watching, waiting for whatever it is that it waits for.
I watched it and it watched me, and it put one of its not hands on my window. And I’m not sure what made me think I should but I stepped forward and placed my hand against the window.
Time often seems to go wrong when it’s involved. It moves too fast or it moves too quickly. Even when you’re not being trapped you’re in another dimension, or hallucinating that you’re in one, whatever you want to believe about the places I’ve seen, the point is that even in the most mundane of settings, my own home, the time doesn’t move right when it’s around.
I don’t know how long we stood there, nothing but a sheet of glass separating me from it. And it was just so tempting. No music in my head, no voices, just my own tiredness. How nice it would be for all of this to be over. To not have to fight anymore, not have to worry, not have to care. I just want to be able to sleep. To not be scared anymore.
But I knew that if I did that it would hurt too many people. I can’t really bring myself to care that much about myself anymore, but I couldn’t stop loving my family and friends if I tried. Even the ones I walked away from to try and keep them safe when I started this nightmare. Especially them.
So I pulled my hand away from the glass and walked backwards, keeping my eyes on it until the moment that my cell phone rang and scared me so badly I tripped and fell on the floor. When I glanced back up at the window it was gone. Wish I had teleport at will abilities, don’t you?
My phone was still ringing. Unknown number at…was it really only 7:39? Like I said, time goes strange when our stalker shows up. I could have sworn we had been staring at each other for hours. I normally don’t answer calls from unknowns, but I thought that perhaps I could repay whoever it was for interrupting my staring contest by at least answering.
That turned out to be a mistake. I am assuming that one of its pets had somehow tracked down my cell phone number because the voice whispering to me on the line was disturbing and mad. Not angry mad. Insane mad. Whoever it was whispered the whole time, making it impossible for me to try and memorize the voice or see if I recognized someone else from my past. Thanks the gods there is no one else like Tom for me to worry about, but still. You never know who will become a target because of me.
The voice whispered vile things about what happened to me when Tom kidnapped me, told me that my suffering would continue, how I would pay for what I did. Of course the voice neglected to tell what exactly I did. I assume it is the same crime as always, refusing to lie down and let any of the monsters that have been part of my life kill me.
After a minute of being frozen in horror, I pulled my wits together and hung up the phone. I should have hung up sooner, but having one’s torture used as an opening subject isn’t something that is easy to ignore. Of course moments after I hung up, it rang again. And again. And again.
I managed to last about ten minutes before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and answered the phone, screaming “Fuck off!” as my greeting. Everything was silent for a moment before a very confused voice spoke.
“Do I have the right number? I was trying to reach Kay, I met her at the grocery store the other day.” said a distinctly not whispering male voice. I probably should have checked my caller id first instead of just assuming it was still whispering loon. Instead it was Ryan. I am on a total roll with this guy, aren’t I?
I apologized; gave him a bullshit story about getting harassed by some kids in the neighborhood. It makes me sad how good I’ve gotten at lying. My mother used to say that she could catch me whenever I lied because I was incapable of disguising my voice and face. Well I must at least be better with my voice because he accepted my story pretty easily, was all kinds of sympathetic about it. He then offered to call me today instead which again left me completely flustered. What is wrong with him? When I met him I attacked him and he asked for my phone number. He called me, I cursed him off, and he offered to call me back.
I guess my reaction to this situation is just another way I fail. Can’t do much of anything right lately. Can’t do right in a normal life, can’t do right in an abnormal one. It just all feels the same.