4. Emily - In her Memory


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.

They haven't left yet."