#journals

Ever had a fear of monsters under your bed? Like you could have sworn you saw what seemed to be a shadow moving down there, or freaked out when you heard a noise under the bed and was scared to look?

April 12th, 2013 I’ve always considered myself very logical. I never put myself into uncomfortable situations nor do I let emotions get the best of me. It wasn’t until today where I felt the stable structure of my mind shift a bit. It was all because of her, I’m sure of it. I only saw her for a brief moment in the crowded hallway of my school but what I did see was enough to make my heart skip a beat.

I’m posting this tonight in the hope that it will clear up the misunderstandings surrounding the disappearance of Debra Lindsay Caine, at the risk of my personal ridicule. Sticks and stones and all that. None of it will matter after tonight. Consider this my one pathetic attempt at an apology, if nothing else. It’s sort of my fault what happened.

2 Thessalonians 2:11- and for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:

Day 3 I was resigned to even writing this journal, and for the first two days I kept my will strong, but even the strongest of minds cannot defeat the allure of distraction from staring at the wall of a cell. This journal entry will probably be the longest of them all. There is a lot to explain about the predicament I find myself in, and the hellhole that I now seem to be imprisoned in for the foreseeable future. To start, I should let you know who I am. I used to be a lawyer. A well off,…

Read Part 1 Here This is what happened next. I’ve been up for three nights. Energy shots and cold showers help. I don’t want to sleep. It’s been much worse lately—the dreams, and the voices. I won’t smoke anymore of these things, I’ve decided. I need answers first. And I need these maddening voices and whispers to stop barraging my nights. I have to listen to music, TV, something, at all times. Or I start to hear them. So far, I’ve only told Mike about what happened.

The following are transcripted entries from the journal of a Soldier that didn't survive the trip home from a deployment in Iraq. Content was provided via the victim's relatives. This might be disturbing for some people to see. Proceed with caution. - 17-MAY-2008 Fort Huachuca, Arizona -

12/02/11

From: —— @ —— .com Re: entries/information requested re: compiling psychological profile Written below are the journal entries of Christopher Young, brother of Daryl Young, found saved as individual files on his personal computer, with file names Prologue.doc, Ch1.doc, Ch2.doc, etc. Apart from being compiled into one document, they have not been altered in any way. — Prologue

It was a dark, and stormy night when I write this journal, stating the horrific things I have experience just the other day..

-11/8/12 -

The day you left me is still clear in my mind. Why would you do this? You know I love you. We're meant to be. We are destined to be together, the stars told me so. You used to love hearing that. You shouldn't have talked to that guy. I wouldn't have gotten so angry if you had told me you wanted permission first. But you were never good at hiding things, were you? Like your house key. I mean, you put it under the welcome mat?

MISSING

The following dialog was found written on a scrap of paper in the cell of a now missing John Doe.

I live in a small town in upstate South Carolina. Nothing much happens here, so it seems with every story’s beginning. Nevertheless, it’s normal... right? I mean, the most spectacular thing that’s ever happened here was probably when there was a new stop sign put up near Deerfield, or perhaps after the Masons started up a new church. Not much I guess. My neighbourhood is pretty quiet. I guess it’s because there was no other kids around but me. I don’t really mind it though, besides, I’m a…

Tuesday, October 11

10:00 A.M. (Tuesday Morning)

[The following was uncovered from the hard drive of Simon Colo’s office computer. For psychological research purposes only.]

June 24th, 2011 Finally found a job working with Zach at his uncle’s place. A salvaging company, digging up boat parts and other junk from the river to make it safer, stuff like that. It’s not really my thing, but it’s a job and I’m grateful for it. Met his uncle earlier today, his name is Walter, really jovial and built like a concrete mixer. We got to talking for awhile, ended up liking me and gave me a position as a diver for his crew. Told him I never dived a day in my life, but he said he…

You know those sounds you hear when no one is home? Those sounds only you hear. When you’re alone. I do. I hear them everyday. The creaking. The noises. The paranoia of my mind playing tricks on me, but is it really?