Hello. I am sure some of you have heard the news of my sister's passing. She was found early yesterday morning in her apartment. Our family is devastated.
Along with a cracked memory card containing a few graphic images, a note was discovered on her desk that referred to this blog. Posting this, in some way, is her only dying wish.
Here it is:
"I dreamt again last night.
I dreamt of the Man in the Long Coat.
Something had changed...
Something had shifted.
I walk into the [redacted] he stands in.
My legs felt like anvils,
my jaw tensed up.
Can your jaw be so tense in a dream?
I felt as if my teeth were going to shatter from the pressure.
He turns;
I freeze.
His eyes were empty hollows descending into his skull.
I glanced behind me where I saw another dark figure immersed in blackness;
the kind of blackness that hides in the center of a shadow.
He was plumed like a blackbird.
The tension from my body left,
all that remained was the engulfing coldness.
I felt everything.
The still air against my skin,
the solid earth beneath my feet.
As soon as I woke up, I was deflated.
My creative energy had been stolen.
I knew it.
I know it.
They're back and they want to get in.
I took my memory card out and popped it into my computer; perhaps I could salvage some remaining photographs.
They're rapping at the door again.
The memory card I used can't be corrupted because it's brand new, but the images have glitched.
Now they're yelling from outside the door.
All except for two.
I'm ignoring them.
One was of a man in a horned mask lurking the woods.
They don't sound angry, they sound distraught.
Then there was one of me.
The sound of a dying rabbit.
The image shows blood running out of my mouth like a stream of tears.
The smell is seeping into my apartment;
it smells awful.
I'm looking at the camera as if I know something, then the photo disappeared.
I wonder if they can hear me sobbing right now. Would they even care.
I am currently writing this on a sheet of lined paper, as my computer crashed immediately after this discovery.
The knocking is getting louder;
I can barely hear myself think, let alone write.
The smell is overwhelming, my eyes tearing up.
I'll transfer these words online when the screams stop.
My hands are shaking.
