Something Terrible Will Happen in Morefolk

Hello, Morefolk. Once again, I'm here in standard email format. There's no doubt in my mind that the string of disappearances as of late has you all in a state of worry. Susie Chandler, Miranda Bishop, and Colton Brandywine. All vanished without a trace, all under the age of six. You don't need to have what occurred explained to you. You know. 
Or maybe, you don't. 
Knowing would require that you believe me. Many of you don't. I understand why. I'm sorry. I owe you an apology, Morefolk. I've really fucked things up. I know how I've sounded in the last few entries. Like a crazed lunatic, desperate to be heard. Drip feeding information that you had a right to be delivered all at once. Spending long periods of time musing and insulting the Morefolk police department. Covering information that doesn't serve to further my message, but rather serves to put myself on a pedestal. Such juvenile, immature behavior. Those kinds of actions don't make me seem trustworthy, I'm aware. I really do apologize. I've been careless. Thinking I'm more clever than I really am. I thought that I had it all handled from the beginning. I couldn't have been more incorrect. I've been far too sloppy. I think they've gotten to me. Gotten to me well before I realized what was happening. I say "they", because I still don't know who they are. I do know, however, what they've done to me.
Have you ever been in an episode of mania? That state of mind where you're not yourself, but you don't even realize it until the episode has ended? That's the closest I can come to accurately describing what I've been through. As far back as my second message to you all, I'd felt strange. A feeling of untouchability, as if I alone were in charge of some greater purpose. To be some form of conqueror. Not simply wishing to indulge in victory, but in the humiliation of some vague notion of "enemy". That notion, of course, manifested in the form of the Morefolk Police Department. From that point forward, sending out my message became ecstasy. A form of high that could only be maintained by becoming bolder, embellishing my actions with theatrics and arrogance. No longer was I satisfied with showing you all the truth. Now, I had to speak of my opposition as if they were rats. Then, no longer was I satisfied with simply that. I had to broadcast my message. Make it bigger, better. Give a show that nobody will ever forget. 
At what expense, though?
I have no doubt that many of you have stopped reading by now, or are at the cusp of doing so. I beg you to continue, just this once. I will explain what happened to me. I promise to do so, but I need time. Time to create a full understanding of what transpired.
It was a while ago that I started having strange dreams. Images of being somewhere dark, somewhere cramped. Sounds of screaming... and the sensation of being somewhere wet. I'd feel myself being pushed somewhere, somewhere outside of my control. As I approached the end of the dark tunnel, the sight of light nearly blinded me. It was as if I were staring into the very sun. The screams would grow louder, and the dream would end as soon as I would emerge from the darkness and into the light.
These dreams were reoccurring, happening pretty much every night. It was so vivid, so detailed, so lucid, and didn't resemble anything I had ever experienced before. That wasn't all, though. Soon I would realize that objects around the house would change locations overnight. Maybe a pair of keys would shift from the dresser to the kitchen table. Or a glass from my kitchen cupboard would be sitting in the sink, even though I knew for a fact that it wasn't there before. After a few times of it happening, I would snap photos of the interior of my house before I'd go to bed. Just so I could be sure that it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me. Guess what? It verified my suspicions. At first, I thought that someone was breaking into my house, but it didn't make sense. To break in multiple times, and not actually take anything? I should have seen it as an immediate red flag, but I just had this strange feeling of superiority, just like I described earlier. Like a kid who doesn't even have a concept of danger. 
My mental state would begin to worsen over time. I'd find myself being constantly agitated over nothing, scratching at my own skin. The sensation of bugs crawling on me made me itch constantly, so much so that I doused myself entirely in bug spray until I was dripping wet, and even that didn't solve the problem. Do you understand how horrible that is? I couldn't grasp why this was happening, why I was experiencing these things. Simultaneously, my dreams grew worse. I would no longer wake up after entering the light. Instead, I would scream as some strange, viscous liquid coated my eyes. Hands, many hands, would grip at my stomach, slicing off something that was attached to it. Then, I would be lifted and held against something. I could feel fingers grasping my shoulder as I was held. Then, and only then, would I awake. 
Awake to find small, finger-like indents on my shoulder.
Days, weeks, even months felt like they sloshed together. My agitation grew until I drew blood and stored dead skin under my fingernails. Things moved around more frequently. My bedroom window would be wide open in the morning. It took so, so long for it to click in my deluded mind that something was going on. Something that shouldn't. That's when I decided to install cameras around the interior of my home. I decided to figure it all out for myself. However, what I found would confuse me. The cameras captured nothing. There was no motion sensed inside my home. No captured visuals of someone breaking in. Yet, I would still awaken to find my possessions displaced and my windows wide open.
I think they've been fucking with me. Of course, they saw the cameras, they were so obviously placed. I think they managed to find a way to doctor the footage somehow. To edit it such that their presence was undetected, so they could continue to torment me. If they could track me down and find me so quickly, they've got to be sophisticated enough to mess with camera footage, right? So, I placed cameras in places I figured nobody would ever check. Under vent covers, inside of the microwave, inside my pillowcase. That way, I could at least capture some audio of their entry with cameras they wouldn't be able to access and tamper with, right? Wrong. They never picked up anything strange at all. No sound of the window opening, no shuffling of feet, nothing.
These guys were good. I hate to admit it, but I may have been in over my head. I tried to convince myself I was fine, that I could handle this. Please, Morefolk. Please, just try and forgive me. 
You can see what they're doing, right? Messing with me? Not to mention these dreams, and my erratic behavior. I think that they were leaking some sort of gas into my room as I slept, hence the open window. I swear, my mind wasn't like this before. I have no record of behavior like what I displayed in prior messages to you all. There's got to be something external, and this kind of thing isn't likely the doing of the Morefolk Police. It has to be something more, something greater. Perhaps the agency the police are working with? The very ones I have yet to be able to uncover.
I wondered why they would do this to me. Why not just kill me if they could locate me? Though I think I know why... they don't want me to become a martyr. That's it, right? You can kill a man, but that won't kill his message. They're killing my message, aren't they? Right... that's it. That's what they're doing.
I eventually decided to move locations, but I don't think that was anything more than a temporary fix. My agitation, my state of mind... it all feels so weird. Holding onto my thoughts is difficult. I think they've found me again. My dreams still continued to get worse. Just like before, I am pushed through the darkness and held into unknown hands. Then, I blink. I'll be standing, facing a wall. There would be this rotted, wooden hatch on the wall as if the surface were hollow. It would smell so horrifically. Black spots of mold etched into the hatch like a messy pimple. I'd take a step towards it, then another, trying to resist the sound of wailing from within. Though I could only take a few steps towards it before waking up, I would make more progress each time. Ultimately, I did reach the entrance to the hatch, and I pulled on the lever, opening the wall up to an abyss before me. This time when I woke up, it didn't go away. The opened hatch remained there, beckoning me. I tried to step foot inside, but I couldn't. Not in time, anyway, before she emerged from it instead.
She smelled putrid and her body was bare. Such disheveled hair, such leathery skin. I saw the gash across her stomach, traces of blood along the stitch-thread. Her stomach itself, though, was bloated, unnaturally so. The fabric of her skin was stretched to the very limit, threatening to tear apart at their seams. She walked so awkwardly like she had no sense of balance. God... I could see the outline of limbs within her. They were all there, crammed back inside, but inside nonetheless. 
No words can describe how my mind raced upon viewing her. I hated seeing her that way, how she hosted such a monstrous appearance. It wasn't her fault that she ended up that way. Not at all... she approached me slowly, reaching down with her long, splintered fingernails and dug into her own abdomen. Her fingers lacked coordination as they sloppily but eventually poked and stabbed into the stitches clinging her skin together like a zipper. As she intruded into her body, she didn't bleed, but that didn't stop blood from leaking out of her. The blood of others. The blood of them. All of them, trapped inside there, were released onto the floor in front of me as if her stomach had vomited them out like chewed-up food. Truth be told, they didn't look far off from that description. 
The infants were the lucky ones. They had the luxury of dying quickly. Their bodies seemed more compact so as to make room for the other occupants that were inside her. Though, that could apply to all of them. Their heads, their skulls, caved in and flattened to limit the space they take. The toddlers and small children weren't so lucky as to die quickly, though. Their tortured faces made that evident. Their stomachs and thighs and rears, the fatty areas of their bodies, had been carved and stripped of meat. Their arms and legs had been messily removed as well, disposed of like bone removed from a chicken breast. What she did to them... I could hardly believe it. I cried. I sobbed, holding absolutely nothing back. I think what did it for me were her eyes. The woman's eyes just... haunted me. 
They were calm. Perfectly, serenely calm. No longer did she cry. Her eyes were utterly relaxed. This was what she wanted. To collect them. She was presenting them to me, like her trophies. No, like her children. She crouched down beside the bodies, caressing and kissing them tenderly. She didn't know she had hurt them. She thought they were her babies. She looked up at me, and I sat down across from her. We stared into each other's eyes as if we were somehow communicating. Her gaze held no ill will or malice. It was as if she recognized me as her... well… as someone who meant her no harm, and who only wished to fix the situation. She had to have seen me that way, right? After all I've gone through, after risking my health and safety to expose the truth to the public. Not just to save the people of Morefolk, but her as well... I wish I hadn't let you all down. I wish I hadn't let her down as well. Not that it matters. I can't change the past. 
It isn't her fault she's a monster.
She looked at me expectantly and began to lift up the children. She tried to hand them to me. To make me hold them. I resisted, though she remained persistent, gently pouting and pulling at my arms so that I could cradle "her babies". I closed my eyes tightly and rocked them, one by one, trying not to anger her. I only opened them again when I felt a tap on my forehead. She was smiling at me, ever so slightly, and took the children back for herself. 
She understood me, and I understood her. She just wanted children, to regain her sense of motherhood. To recapture that sense of fulfillment that was taken from her. It isn't her fault she's a monster. She didn't mean to be one.
Despite how real it all seemed, I expected to wake up at any minute. That moment never did arrive. She remained, coddling and feeding the children at all hours of the day. I don't understand why she's still here. Not because I'm still under the illusion that she's purely in my mind. In the sense that I don't get what's keeping her here, in this plane of life. She's gotten the children she's craved. The only other connection must be... 
Jesus Christ.
Like I said in my prior message to you all, I know who's responsible for all of this. For her being here in the first place. I know that the police have been covering them, pushing all the misdeeds of the past under the rug. I know who it is, and I had been expecting to force them into the spotlight by now. That is until something unexpected happened. I talked to them... and they ended up admitting it. All of it. I didn't expect it at all, knowing the kind of things they did. The gross, horrific actions they partook in, which I fully believe led up to this point. I talked to them, through indirect communication of course, but I talked to them nonetheless, and they explained their actions and regrets, knowing full well I'd be recording. They even plan on going public soon and stepping down from their position. I made a promise, didn't I? That I'd come forward with the information if the police didn't? To hear that the guilty person in question will come forward, taking the opportunity I gave to them... they'll not only validate everything I've said but potentially release this woman from this Earth, so that we can all move on.
Won't that be enough? Won't it?
I thought it would be. That lasted until she began whispering to me at night, preventing me from sleeping. She tells me that she hurts inside. That she hates that man for what he did. That he needs to be punished. She tells me how her heart aches, of the loneliness she feels constantly. She describes how horrible it is that the man who ruined her gets to live his life as normal, flashing smiles and being friendly with others, continuing on a respected life as she suffers in silence. Silence which, until she found me again, she had no chance of breaking. To simply weep and find children to care for was the only option afforded to her.
What if exposing the truth isn't enough? What if it doesn't satisfy her? What if she continues killing...? Could I really live myself if that were the case? Every day she stays here is another day I'm risking her taking another life. Is that risk possibly worth taking? 
The whispers won't stop. Her breath tickles my ear like a gentle wind. She and her children occupy my bed at night, holding me tightly with them. They're all so, so very cold. 
The whispers continue further.
Every day, my head grows fuzzier. I feel myself sinking back into the feeling that tore apart my credibility. Things are once more swapping places inside of my house during the dead of night. I won't let them fuck with me again. I have to act quickly. Whatever choice I make, it needs to be made soon.
She isn't whispering anymore. She's screaming, right into my ear. She's telling me to hate the man who destroyed her. That I of all people should understand. That it's the only way things can return to normal. She shrieks so loudly that it feels like my ears are shredding. Is it really the only choice I have? To do something awful to someone I've spoken to who regrets his past choices? Is it fair? What if he's really changed? What if he's not defined by his past actions? Isn’t he owed some ability to be redeemed? Surely he didn't intend for things to end up this way, right? He couldn't have possibly foreseen all this. 
Yet, she doesn't care. She tells me that what’s fair to him won’t heal the wound in her soul. That his redemption can’t possibly redeem her. 
Is she right? Maybe she’s right… I think… She’s so right!
Maybe it isn't a matter of fairness. Life isn't fair. Life definitely wasn't fair for her. Nor will it be fair for him. Or me. Or the pregnant women as well as the children who have fallen victim to her so far. What's fair may no longer matter. Perhaps it's now a matter of necessity instead. Doing what I need to do, even if it hurts. Even if I wish there were another way.
Waiting for that man to come clean, however soon it may be, will only risk more lives. I can't take that risk. Especially if waiting means I fall back into the mania that claimed me. I have a gun I keep in my bedroom dresser. I can use it. I can fix this. I have to fix this.
Maybe I'll survive, maybe I won't. I'm so sorry, Morefolk. I don't have time to explain everything. Every second is too precious to waste. Whether I live or not, you will hear from me one final time. There's a video that's been processing, that will be spread to you all regardless of if I'm there to send it. It will explain a lot, I promise. You'll see what I mean if, or when, it comes to that. Ironic, I know, to leave things somewhat incomplete yet again. For what may be a final time, I offer my sincere apologies. My actions will speak for me. That's a guarantee. For too long, I have failed as a truth-teller. I became careless and paid the price for it. Where I failed then, I won't fail now. Please, for one final time, believe in me. 
-J
Category:Icydice
Category:Monsters
Category:Dreams/Sleep