Paranoiac Read online

  Journal Entry Eight

  I ran to the lobbys' double doors and flung them open angrily. A blast of heat hit my face and the humidity instantaneously made my skin feel sticky with moisture. The sky was painted in twilight colors of pink, blue and orange. Rows of empty vehicles were parked along the circular gravel-filled driveway, its’ perimeter lined with large stones. My eyes frantically darted around the property for the intruder until they ached. “Where are you?” I yelled out over the property. Only the noisy army of cicadas answered me back.

  I marched down the stone path that led to the circular driveway and I realized my car wasn’t parked alongside any of the others. I didn’t drive very often so it wasn’t anything too strange but it still deepened the mystery of how I got here. Slowly I walked up to the first vehicle I saw, a shiny black SUV. Its' front passenger side window was shattered. The thick turquoise tinted glass peppered the gravel beneath the window. A large rock that was pulled from the yard was sitting in the passenger seat. The seat was covered in glass and the fabric smudged with dirt. Unfortunately, and to my dismay, a yellow sticky-note was stuck on top of the stone. Scrawled in the strangers' charming cursive, the note read, “There are many like me but only one will show you the path”. Of course he wants to play more games, to send me on more wild goose chases.

  He wants to drive me spiraling into the mouth of madness. I wanted to drop everything and go home just to spite this coward. Unfortunately, I was compelled by curiosity and couldn’t keep myself from drifting towards the next vehicle, a black car, sleek and expensive. The passenger door was unlocked, so I quietly opened it and climbed in. The seat was extremely comfortable, the windows were heavily tinted, and the steering wheel was covered in fine leather. Looking up I found a yellow sticky-note, peering at me from the rear-view mirror. I closed my eyes, sighed and tried to ignore it.

  I sat with my eyes closed listening to the cicadas cry. Eventually, I knew, I would have to open my eyes. I tried to think of other solutions, wondering of leaving this place, ignoring the shiny yellow notes and never looking back. Regrettably I know that the moment I open my eyes, I’d be compelled to look, like seeing a car crash in slow motion or a bloated corpse floating in a river. I took another deep breath and embraced the addiction that is my curiosity.

  My eyes opened slowly as I exhaled and I gave in. Staring at the note I read each syllable out-loud, “Do you remember her? Will you remember her?” I shook my head at the note and stared at the twilight sky. I thought of the name Molly once again. Every time her name flickered in my head, I felt my stomach sink. The name Molly conjured an awful regret but I couldn’t fathom why. I wasn’t ready to face the story behind her name. It frightened me almost as much as the cellar door. Mollys' name had been swimming in my head ever since my drunken stupor. I wasn’t ready to face her yet. Every time I tried to picture her my mind threw up walls and all I could see was static. I knew she was important, more important than anything I could imagine. The only thing I could do was move on to the next overly-expensive vehicle. I was losing daylight after all and something from within was nudging me to continue my search.

  Something small and intuitive whispered songs of caution and foreboding about the night, especially since there would be no moon tonight. Most people believe that the fiends come up from their dark and dreary oubliettes on a full moon. They are so wrong. The true lusus naturae come out on those moonless nights. They are creatures who don’t need that pale ghastly light to illuminate their path. The real monsters prefer the pitch black. It is where they tread through, in thick darkness, licking their lips while watching you sleep in your cozy beds. They can smell your sweat, your lies and your blood. These are abominations who play that old game of cat and mouse. And eventually these apex predators will give into their primordial urges. They steal your life, leaving you broken and violated in ways that stain your soul. Neither heaven nor hell will claim your twisted mangled spirit after that. They'll leave you cold, stripped and choking on your life’s blood in some unnamed forest. Your rotting demoralized corpse becomes the only testament to their dark, brutal, invisible existence. I shuddered remembering that velveteen laughter from my dreams and moved on.

  Journal Entry Nine

  The next car was the same story: expensive, luxurious and unlocked. But unlike the last car, the interior was stiff and uncomfortable. It smelled new and looked barely used. One of the things I learned from growing up with people like my dad was that just because a car looked new, didn’t mean it was new. Most of those arrogant, high-class, rich types had a dozen cars worth more than everything I owned. A lot of them sat unused, scarcely touched and just for show. People who wasted their money on such pointless trite aggravated me to no end.

  I can recall so many snobby parties that my father forced me and my mother to attend. They were rooms full of rich jackasses, standing around with their noses in the air, speaking nonsense while bragging about this or that. It was so easy to tell that they all hated each other. They would stand there, bloated with arrogance, chatting about why they were better than everyone else or bullshit about politics. I always tried to stick to my mother while everyone else was mingling at the party. We would sneak away to explore those monstrous homes until my father needed to show her off.

  I always felt so betrayed. As much as I thought of my mom as an outsider like me, she obviously loved the attention. She loved the power my father bought with his wealth and couldn’t help herself. I could only imagine how she acted when I wasn’t at those parties. I was usually the only kid at those stuffy get-togethers. Of course there were other children at some of the parties but I hated all of them. They were all just carbon copies of their parents. Their noses were pointed just as high as their own cookie-cutter parents.

  The old stuffy parties faded away like a bad dream. I sat, white knuckled holding the steering wheel, with sweat rolling down my brow as I searched for another note. There was none and I was surprisingly disappointed. I was losing daylight and wanted to find this asshole. As I moved on to the next vehicle I was anticipating the next note, the next clue that would lead me to a treasure trove of answers. All I wanted was to get to the truth and then run screaming out of this place. Hell, maybe I’ll burn it down before I leave.

  Determined to continue my search, I walked up to a monster of a vehicle, an all American, gas guzzling hunk of excess. It was black, brand new and one of the biggest wastes of space I had ever seen. Just like the other two it was unlocked and had that awful new car smell. I hated that smell, the smell of sterility. I liked things that smelled lived in, things with a history. I’m not one for shiny pretty things. I love antiques, worn down furniture in creaky old buildings, ready to collapse at any moment.

  You couldn’t tell that the house in front of me was built in the 1900’s. Most of the wooden floors and furnishings were just as old but everything else was brand new. The house was in a derelict state back when it was found and refurbished. Luckily, most of the house was sealed tight with only a few broken windows. Most of the wood in the house survived the harsh, humid weather. A lot of the house is still furnished with the original furniture too. Apparently it was hunkered down inside of the cellar, hidden from the awful Southern humidity. A sharp hard shiver ran up my spine just at the thought of the cellar. It was almost like a living, breathing creature, sitting still, ready to pounce on its prey at any moments' notice. I pulled away from the thought of the heavy, bolted wooden door. I hated that wicked corridor and its' gloomy, shadowed door but I didn’t know why. Shaking my head violently with my eyes squeezed shut, I tore myself away from that preternatural darkness.

  The humidity was weighing on me. The sun was slowly setting and there were still two cars to search after this one. I focused on the task at hand and combed the mechanical atrocity for any notes or signs of life. In frustration I all but ripped out the upholstery looking for that little, yellow, sticky note. I stumbled out of the monstrosity and slammed the door loudly. The sound echoed through
out the property, temporarily muting the cicadas.

  By the time I reached the next car the cicadas were back in full force. This vehicle was almost an exact replica of the first. Promptly I christened the machine, Monstrosity Mark II. It was the same shade of black, had the same interior and all of the same expensive nonsense. The only difference was the fancy radio deck. It was the kind of deck with a booming sound system that rattled every window in a 5 mile radius. Sound systems, cars, and sports were things I never cared to learn about. After several minutes I sighed with woe, finding no signs of any little yellow notes.

  After taunting me constantly with these minuscule annotations, he was depriving me of them. Like a drug dealer he gave me a taste of the truth, a taste of how to find this wormy bastard. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, he had stopped leaving them. I hated how much I wanted to find another shiny, yellow piece of paper. Every time I saw one of those little fuckers I got so angry. Now only my addiction and my curiosity will drive me onward. Furiously, I kicked at the cars' excessively large tires. I was irate with myself for playing his stupid game. I could have just as easily went home, leaving this madness behind. Defiantly, I could walk away with my back to all of these sour memories. But while I write in this journal I already knew I can’t.

  As I walked to the last car, I wiped a layer of sweat off of my brow and slung it to the ground. The last car in the driveway surprised me as I neared its dented and scratched frame. It was very different from all of the others. The car was old, at least ten to twelve years or so. It was worn, scratched, dented and beautiful. The only thing new about the car were its tires. It was refreshing and comforting to be in the presence of such a vehicle. I walked the perimeter of the car taking in every ding and scratch. The bumper was covered in Liberal, vinyl stickers that layered each other. I stared at all of the typical pro-choice, anti-patriarchy, and anti-religion stickers. It was as if the car was a protest sign unto itself. Even if I agreed with most of the bumpers' messages, I felt that it was overdoing it a bit. I smirked and studied this oh-so-familiar car. I couldn’t dream of why I felt connected to it but again the name Molly flashed into my minds' eye. I ignored the name and glared into the windshield.

  My heart stopped for an instant and everything around me became silent. Again, on the rearview mirror was a tiny, yellow note. I eagerly grabbed for the handle to the front-passenger side door just to find it was locked. Locked! I hysterically ran to the other doors but they were all sealed. I sat, staring at the note trying to read it from the outside. I couldn’t even make out a squiggle of cursive. Every time I came close to reading a single word my eyes would lose focus. “Dammit!” I yelled out, pacing back and forth. A dysphoria passed over me. It was right there, right fucking there and I couldn’t reach it.

  Then inspiration hit. I ran to the front of the house and right up to the busted SUV. Sweat dripped down my back as I pulled the rock out of the front-passenger side window. My arm scraped against the broken glass jutting from the broken window’s frame but I ignored the pain. The rock was dense and awkwardly shaped. I clumsily ran back to the older, worn car at the end of the semicircle. The gravel crunched underneath my feet, leaving me off balance and straining under the weight of the jagged stone.

  I slid to the car, lost my footing and for the third time today landed brutally on my ass. My tail bone felt obliterated and the palms of my hands were pressed painfully against the hot, stabbing gravel. The large stone laid beside me. The crag of the rock was covered in dirt and pointed upwards. The rock and gravel alike were spattered with flecks of my blood. I watched it trickle off the side of the stone while catching my breath. I inspected my glass shredded forearms as my heartbeat finally began to calm. The cuts were superficial but bled out like a fountain. My hands were another story. I brushed the sharp gravel out of my already cut filled hands and finally mustered enough energy to stand.

  Sluggishly I picked up the rock, spun in a circle and heaved the stone into the driver’s side window. To my dismay I had to jump a few steps back to awkwardly avoid the ragged rock when it bounced off of the window. “I will not be defeated by you!” I yelled angrily. Fueled by a toxic rage I picked up the ugly chunk of stone, lifted it over my head and started smashing the window with the crag repeatedly. I screamed louder and louder with each blow. A mixture of blood sweat and tears splattered forcefully against the car with each trembling assault.

  Finally on the eighth strike the tempered glass of the window fractured and on the ninth it shattered. Turquoise glass exploded into the car. Dropping the knobby stone onto the gravel I staggered to the ancient, antique of a car and steadied my balance. Knocking off the rest of the glass from the window with my journal, I unlocked the door and stood horrified at what looked like the scene of a bloody murder. My life’s blood was spattered along the cars' upholstery and dripped off of the shattered, blue tinted glass.

  Unlocking the door I slipped into the car and slumped into the seat. I was sore, out of breath, and dripping with a blood-sweat. The sunlight was almost gone and the cicadas were dead silent after my outburst. My arm, shaking with exhaustion reached out and peeled the note off of the mirror. I was having an out of body experience and I could barely feel the glass jabbing into my ass. The note simply read, “This was her car you know.” I was suddenly dizzy and nauseous. Images of a pretty black haired, green eyed women flashed in my mind. I tried to push the thought of her out of my head. Every time I caught a flash of her crooked, slightly fanged smile I became sick to my stomach. I knew every minuscule image that glimmered in my mind had come from memories I refused to admit. I kept trying to block out the memories that were scratching at the inside of my head. I patched up the wall in my mind that was protecting me from my grief. The pathetic mental barrier was only being held together with paper mâché made from hard, cheap liquor and the rambling writings of a madman. I knew the make-shift blockade wouldn’t hold forever but I couldn’t help but delay the inevitable.

  I sloppily slid out of the car, my balance shot to hell. The sun was finally down and the moonless sky left me feeling like I was in another world. I could feel those creatures of the night staring at me through the forest that framed the houses' entrance. One by one the outdoor lights came to life. The lights illuminated the driveway and the house like a center stage. Cautiously I walked through the dim lit driveway following the lights that slowly flickered to life.

  Abruptly, my ears started to ring with a high pitched noise. Or was that the cicadas? More memories of her leaked from the cracks of my mental blockade. This time I saw flashing images of the gorgeous woman, she was smiling and laughing. It sent chills up my spine. I felt warmth in my hand and the sensation of fingers intertwining with mine.

  More and more lights winked on, leading me to the path behind the house. More and more images of the emerald eyed siren crawled into my mind. I could still feel an echo of soft hands tracing my arms and into my fingers. It felt like she was haunting me. Looking down slowly, I peered at the long, ragged scratches that marked my arm. There was dry, crusty blood that ran the length of my arm. It was pulling painfully at the hairs matted to my skin. Opening my clenched fist I looked down at the thin, sweat drenched note and let it float to the floor. There was a rumbling in the sky and an intense need to get out of the moonless, miasmic darkness.

  Journal Entry Ten

  Out of thin air a cool, fat rain drop splashed on to my cheek. Then another and another until I was being bombarded with the sloppy, heavy, ice-cold rain. The humid heat was obliterated with this sudden unexpected rain. The icy rain and chilling wind pushed the dizzying memories of Molly out of my head. I impatiently shoved the journal under my shirt, protecting it with my life. I’ve always found my grave ramblings to be more important than my life.

  I glanced at the path leading behind the house and as if on cue a thunderous bang lit up the sky. A compulsive, adrenaline fueled fear forced me to take off running down the illuminated passage. Icy rain started to soak through my clothes
as I ran across the stone path leading to the garden. The towering trees and banana leaves on either side of the walkway formed a tunnel. The trees served as a shield from the abrupt thunderstorm. However, even with the plant life protecting me from the rain, I was still dripping wet. I could feel the blood and grime wash from me as I ran through the path. I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the trees, plants and bushes as they were blasted with a torrid wind.

  The rain started pelting me sideways stinging my open wounds while I tried to protect my face. I started to lose my footing as the wind whipped me with debris from the garden’s path. All I could do was follow the blooming light that was a beacon to a dry sanctuary. It felt like I was traveling through a black hole, passing through some ethereal portal to another world.

  Lightning cracked from above and thunder vibrated through my ears. The little lights on the stone path flickered turning this awful experience into a true horror show. I started to jog, out of breath from running, along the slippery stones. The foliage started to get thicker the closer I got to the back of the house. The banana leaves and trees started blocking out most of the rain.

  At last the wind was letting up and the nightmarish storm eased up almost as fast as it had come. I slowed to an even walk and finally started to catch my breath. If there is one thing I’ve learned today it is how out of shape I am. I have been here for little less than a day and I’ve gotten more exercise than I could stand.