The Kilaran Files: Amy's Account

“Sometimes the things in our head are far worse than anything they could put in books or on film.”
–C.K. Webb
During my investigation of Kilaran Ticker I found many slivers of information. Some say that Kilaran is a work of fiction. Some say that he’s a godly entity. There’s an entire cult based around him, and they’re doing obscene things just to please him.
So the question remains: is he real or not? I have been assigned by the FBI to investigate this matter and present my results to the public.
My name is Daniel Hawtheman, FBI agent, currently investigating the mysterious disappearances following an unknown man (or entity) named Kilaran Ticker. Through my investigation so far, I have collected a set number of accounts from several people. This is Amy Herondale’s account of her encounter (if I should even call it that) of this unknown entity.
***
M-my name is Amy Herondale. I’m 30 years old, and I live in a quaint little town called Wallace in Idaho. I work as a journalist. I…I’m sorry for stuttering, I’m still trying to get my bearings together. You did say “Kilaran Ticker,” right? P-please don’t mention that name to me…I haven’t heard it since the 5th grade, and I’d rather not remember it. 
I should probably start with the story now, shouldn’t I? 
Well, it had all started around the time of Valentine’s Day. The sad thing is, I didn’t really have any friends back then. I was kind of the outlier in the equation. I spent most of my time with my nose in a book, which was exactly what I was doing that day: reading my favorite library book ''The Wizard of Oz'' by L. Frank Baum. I was sitting in the library alone as usual, pondering which book to read. Something caught my eye in the library, and I felt this strange, yet strong, urge to check out ''The Wizard of Oz.'' I opened up the book and started reading through it.
You know that feeling that you get when you read a book for long enough – that feeling of immersing yourself in the story and feeling like you are living through it? Yeah, that’s part of the joy of reading. Right then, I was Dorothy leading my dog Toto down the yellow brick road. When I read books, it would always be a surreal experience for me, and that’s kind of why I preferred books over people back then. You could read any book and just sink into the story like it’s enveloping every part of your mind. 
My reading was interrupted by someone saying, “Amy! Amy, the library is closing!” 
I turned to look at who said that, and it was the librarian, Mrs. Wess. She was a nice woman; around her 50s but still a cheerful soul. Her eyes held a passion for learning within them, and she loved to help others with any problem they had. She was to me like Mary Poppins was to Jane and Michael.
“Ok, I’ll be out in a minute!” As I closed the book, I saw who had last had the book on the ‘recent checkouts’ page on the inside of the cover:
Johnathan Torquian, Henry Konan…
(Amy stuttered a bit on the last name.)
''K-Kilaran Ticker…''
…
A-anyways, I put the book back and left the library.
“You know, you should spend a little more time outside with your friends,” Mrs. Wess said as I walked out the door.
I stopped just shy of the threshold with my hand on the open door, pondering what I should say…. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Oh. Tell you what, maybe I can help with your problem. Come back to the library tomorrow,” She said, a small spark of inspiration in her eyes.
“Maybe….” I said, wary about how it would go. 
“Um, really quickly, do you know who Kilaran Ticker is?” I asked.
She said, “No, I’m sorry. There’s never been anyone like that in the library before.”
I thought I saw her glance sideways when she said that.
Anyways, she bid me a farewell and I set off to go home. 
(….I know I’m taking a little too long, so I’m just going to skip ahead….)
I was getting ready for bed that night, and I felt a headache coming on. "All the more reason to go to bed," I thought, and I drifted off into peaceful sleep. 
I woke up with a shudder.
I was in my room.
However, something seemed...off.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong, but I know for certain that something wasn't right. I did what any young child would do and got out of bed to go to my parent’s room. 
My house wasn’t that big. It was a single-floor house with five rooms: a bathroom, a guest room, a kitchen and living room combined, my parents’ room, and my room. Hence the house was quite small. However, when I stepped out of my room, I found what was wrong. I didn’t see any other doors in the hallway, and the hallway looked a mile long. 
At least the hallway was well lit. 
I started down the hallway, trying to find a way out. As I walked down the hallway, the lights dimmed. Darkness grew the further I walked. And the door to my bedroom had suddenly disappeared.
I had nowhere to go but forward; so on I trekked, the ever-rising tension building in my stomach. The hallway twisted and turned; continuing to get dimmer and dimmer, my footsteps getting louder and louder with every step I took. Every time I looked back, I noticed the wall behind me was only a few feet away each time. Despite all of that, I kept walking. I couldn’t really tell what was happening, but I knew I needed to keep going.
And then the screaming started.
It sounded soft, like a small moan, but then started to build; getting louder, louder, louder, louder the longer I advanced down the hallway. After around ten minutes of walking, I couldn’t even hear myself think. By this point, I would’ve just stayed where I was instead of walking toward the scream, but I was no longer in control of my body. Five more minutes passed, and then I saw a door at the end of the hallway. I opened the door and entered the room inside….
I was inside the library.
The screaming abruptly stopped, and I was once again greeted with the sound of sweet silence. I walked up to Mrs. Wess, who was actively doing some late night work, and I tapped on the counter. Mrs. Wess looked up at me and asked, “Amy? What are you doing here?” 
“I…don’t know,” I replied.
Mrs. Wess then lunged at me! She had a knife hidden behind her back and nearly stabbed me in the middle of my forehead. I rolled to the side and screamed – 
“Mrs. Wess! What are you doing?!” 
Her eyes no longer held that love for learning, they were more glazed over than soulful.
She laughed. “I’m just doing what my old friend KT asked me to do!”
With those words, she plunged the knife into my right leg, causing me to topple over on the ground. I looked down to see my leg hanging by a singular tendon, as the floor of the nonfiction section erupted with blood and clumps of my own muscle. I screamed with pure agony from the impact, and then with primal instinct leading my every move, I yanked the knife from Mrs. Wess’ hands and thrusted with all of my might. Her maniacal laughter instantly ceased. With a low gurgle, she managed to say, “Thank you…he wouldn’t free me no matter what I did anyways…” With that, she dropped on the ground, knife directly in her bosom, dead. I got up off the ground, blood soaked hands held to my head in a panic, as I watched Mrs. Wess’ internal fluids spill to the ground. 
“What have I done?” I asked softly. Mrs. Wess was the only person who listened to me. The only person who raised me to be a little better.
She was my friend.
With a feeling of pure and utter hopelessness in my heart, I raised the knife to my throat.
….I woke up, startled. I was back in my room, and it was morning.
Considering how vivid the dream was, I was shaking really hard. I…I don’t really remember what happened after that; I went to school and I read my book during recess in the teacher’s room. However, when I went to the library like Mrs. Wess requested, I didn’t see her at her desk.
I did, however, encounter the worst stench I’ve ever smelled in my life. It smelled like someone had taken a massive shit and left it to stay for hours. However, my heart dropped when I saw what was on the carpet in front of her desk. 
I saw a massive pool of blood. It looked incredibly similar to what I saw in my dream, in fact. I don’t know what made me look in the nonfiction section, whether it be morbid curiosity or actual stupidity, but I looked there and I nearly fainted.
Mrs. Wess was there. On the ground. 
Dead.
***
….I was never accused of anything, don’t get me wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have the life that I have now, would I? However, I’ve recently started having these strange dreams again.
One dream was of my older brother who died the same way he did in my dream. Another was my best friend who died in my dream and then died in real life as well.
I don’t fucking know what is happening, but how the fuck would anyone know? 
However, there was always one correlation with each dream I’ve had: KT was always manipulating the victims to attack me. I had to defend myself each time they attacked, and that resulted in their deaths. It was only until my most recent dream that I figured it out. In that dream, ''He'' spoke with me in person.
“Hello, Amy. I see you’ve grown up,” he said, laughing pompously.
He had a slender physique with a (kind of) charming face and hairdo. However, a quick look at him said everything about his character and personality. His eyes were…devoid of soul. They had no feeling, no emotion, nothing. They weren’t glazed over like Mrs. Wess’, but more like he was hiding his true emotion deep down inside. However, he gave off a menacing aura, like the room was closing in around me with every second I stared at him.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” I asked.
“Oh, dear Amy, I see that while you are definitely bright in some ways, you certainly aren’t the sharpest blade in the knife block. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is KT.”
I couldn’t speak. I suddenly remembered a name that fit that acronym.
Kilaran Ticker.
Sir, I wish to say no more on the topic. 
***
(Amy did not say anymore on the topic of her encounter with Kilaran Ticker. However, she did offer to help in any way she could with the investigation. Unfortunately, her time helping us was short-lived. A month after the interview, someone had called in saying someone had died; but when the police arrived, they found out very quickly who the victim was. Her room was checked, and her body was broken and mutilated on the ground with the words ‘STOP THE INVESTIGATION’ written in her own blood on the wall. The investigation into Amy’s sudden murder has been inconclusive, and no evidence has been found to convict anyone. Therefore, we can only guess who could’ve killed her.
This is the end of Amy Herondale’s account of her interaction with Kilaran Ticker.)
Category:Beings
Category:Dreams/Sleep