I'm Sorry

thumb|right|335 px
I'm... not really sure where to start. I've been thinking about it for days, but... nothing. No matter how long I sit and contemplate, I just can't find a point where it all began. I suppose I can start when I first noticed it. That makes sense, I guess.
I sit at home most of the time when I don't work. My social life is kinda restricted, thanks to the long hours, but I'm kept entertained most of the time. The Internet is a magical thing, I swear. Videos eat up the majority of my free time, and movies take the rest. I live with family. My great-grandmother and great-aunt, in fact. Sweet ladies, don't get me wrong. My grandma Audrey is a great cook, and aunt Mary does a lot of the work around the house. I do too when asked, of course, but they don't always ask, so...
I'm getting off subject. I guess I first noticed while I was playing games on the back porch of my house. I was rockin' out some classics, and I got up to get some pop. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, just outside the sliding glass door, in the backyard. I looked, but it was dark. It was, like, 11:00 at night, so, unsurprising. I didn't know what it was. Just a kind of glint on the glass or something.
In retrospect, I should have been more skeptical. The lights were off, and my grandma has a rule that the Venetian blinds on the windows need to be 'closed' after dark. There weren't any lights in the backyard either. It was the middle of July, so no Christmas decorations or anything like that. Seriously, I'm an idiot for not thinking about it more. I guess I was tired, running low on caffeine.
The next time I saw something, it was maybe three months later. I was walking out to my truck after work. It had been a long shift, and I was angry. I work around people at my job, but I'm usually pretty removed from them. Standing in a room by yourself for a few hours a day, you start to become aggravated by little things, like running out of printer paper, or one of your coworkers doing something stupid that adds an extra step to your work. It's hard to explain, but the day was over, and I was going home, so whatever. I had to cross an alley to get to my truck. Looking left, I could see the big one-way road that goes uphill to my workplace. Off to the right is the smaller two-way road that gets me home. Ahead of me was the makeshift parking lot that was in use while construction was being done on the new building.
It was kind of late, around 9:00 at night, so I was surprised to see anyone, besides me, in the lot. But there, standing idly between the parked cars, was a man about my height and build. He was wearing some ratty old hoodie and black cargo pants. His shoes were black tennis shoes, but I couldn't tell what brand. He was just standing there. He wasn't trying to get in a car, or even going anywhere. Just standing, looking creepy. I kept an eye on him as I walked to my vehicle, but he didn't move. I was weirded out, obviously, but I got to my truck and drove off, leaving the man behind.
I thought as I went, listening to the rock music blaring out of my radio. The guy must have been on something, right? Drunk, or high? Maybe crazy? I don't know, but he wasn't right. Maybe he was on the phone? I didn't see one, but Bluetooth? No, he wasn't talking. Just... standing.
I got home with no problem. I really am amazed that I haven't crashed that truck yet. Alignment's off, and my eyesight sucks, especially at night.
Off topic again, sorry. Gotta focus. The month after that, a few days before Thanksgiving, I saw the man again. He was wearing the same clothes. I honestly almost didn't recognize him. My memory isn't great, but it's hard to forget something weird like that, you know. He was in the middle of the yard between apartment buildings across the street from my house. Just standing.
No, wait. He was... different this time, or doing something. Fiddling with something in his hands. I couldn't tell from that far away. It was night again. 9:30. I was really late getting home from work. My feet hurt from standing all day. I saw the guy and assumed it was my drunk uncle. He lives over there, but I'm certain it wasn't him. He looks pretty... distinctive. Like, prone-to-walking-outside-without-a-shirt-on distinctive. No, this was definitely the same guy as before. I'm not ashamed to say I started to freak a little bit when I realized. You have to understand, I work about 20 minutes from my home. I have to cross a freakin' bridge to get there and back. It's in another state for God's sake. Why the guy was here was beyond me.
I had half a mind to go tell him to leave me alone. I actually thought of getting a knife in case it got violent, but the only dangerous ones we have are steak knives. Not much good. Instead, though, I just ignored him again, went inside, and locked the door. I made sure the other doors were locked too, just in case. I curled up in my bed, freaking out. I don't think I got to sleep until like 2:00 in the morning.
When I woke up, I was late for work already. They had called me, but my phone was on silent from work the day before. I called them back and told them I was feeling crappy. I lied because I really didn't feel like going in after the previous night. I was still scared, but I was feeling defensive and didn't want to admit it to myself. I just thought, Get through today. Go back to work tomorrow. It'll be fine. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it helped me get out of bed. My room is on the second floor of the house. So is Mary's, just to the left of mine as I walk out the door. The stairs are kind of across from both rooms, and there is a bathroom to my right.
I stumbled, drained, to the stairs. I hadn't changed out of my clothes, so I was still wearing them. I started taking each step, groggily, and was about to turn the corner at the landing, but I noticed something strange at the bottom. The inner front door was cracked open. As I said, I made certain to lock all of the doors before going to bed. There was no reason for that door to be open. My aunt works, but she knows to close it because my grandmother has a thing about bugs getting in the house.
I went back upstairs as quietly as I could and retrieved the baseball bat that I kept next to my bed. I crept down the stairs, back to the landing. The door was still open. My heart raced. Then I realized something. My aunt would make sure the door was closed, but so would my grandma. She'd get up to close it if she saw it like that. I started getting really worried. I started silently praying that she was alright.
I got to the bottom of the stairs, bat at the ready, and peeked into the living room around the corner. Everything looked fine. No overturned furniture, or broken pictures. Nothing obviously alarming. I didn't relax, though. I made my way toward my grandmother's computer room, which was converted to a makeshift bedroom for her. She wasn't in her bed, nor was she sitting at her computer. The bathroom adjacent to her room didn't seem occupied, as the door was wide open. My next guess was the back porch, where I played games. The one with the sliding glass door, that connected to the backyard.
The door to the porch was closed. I could see in through a small window in the door, but she wasn't in the chair that I usually sit in. That meant she was probably on the couch. I opened the door and turned the corner. There was no one there. I started panicking. The basement was the only other place she could be, but the lights weren't on. I stood there, bat in hand, completely losing my mind. I didn't know what to do.
Then, I heard something outside, in the front yard. I moved next to the window and slowly peeked out. A car had pulled into the driveway. My grandmother's car. And I could see her in the driver's seat. I let out a sigh of relief. I was still shaking when she walked through the door, carrying our two smaller dogs in her arms. I hadn't even realized that they were gone. I should have, since they bark every morning when I come downstairs. Apparently, she had taken them to get groomed, but the regular place was closed that day, so she came home early. She hadn't even told me about it beforehand. It took me over an hour to fully calm down after that. I asked her about the open door, but she said she closed it. That only made me more paranoid. I didn't tell her about the man I saw. I didn't want to worry her. I would just make sure all the doors and windows were locked each night, like before.
That night, I slept soundly. I don't remember dreaming, but I was surprisingly out. Considering the day I'd had, I should have been completely distraught. I don't know how I got any sleep at all.
Then, I was woken up by my door creaking open. I was a little out of it at first, but I realized what was happening, and sat bolt upright. I reached for the bat, just in case. Just as my fingers hit the pommel of the bat, a figure swept up from the other side of the bed and pinned me down. The feel of the pants against my legs, and the gray ratty hood pulled over his face were unmistakable. It was the man from before. I could feel all the pockets on his pants scratching at me. His shoes hurt my feet as he held me down.
He reached behind his back with his right arm. I took the opportunity to roll him over, putting myself on top of him. I rolled him onto his stomach so he couldn't fight me, and I saw what he was reaching for. In the waist of his pants, I could make out the handle of a knife. I freaked. I pinned his arms as best I could with my knees and grabbed the bat. I pulled back his hood with my left hand and swung the bat with my right. I felt the cushion of hair through the bat, but I kept swinging. I hit him again and again. I must have swung at least twenty times before he finally stopped squirming. But I didn't stop until I was certain he wouldn't get up again.
I was exhausted. My arms felt like jelly. I was covered in blood. Once the adrenaline faded, I had to rush to the bathroom before throwing up. I couldn't really move for a few hours after that. I was broken down and dehydrated, and I was horrified at what I'd done. Even in self-defense, I never thought I could actually kill someone. I did my best to wash the blood off me in the bathtub upstairs. Once I was sufficiently cleaned up, I went back to my room where the man lay. I tried not to look at him, but didn't have a choice as I moved him off of my bed. I rolled him over. I caught a look at his face.
That was two days ago. I still haven't called the cops, because I'm afraid of what will happen. I mean, I killed someone. I doubt I'll get any leniency in a trial, given that I'm over 18. I left my house and haven't been back. I'm scared. I tried using the Internet here to find information about the culprit, but I haven't found anything that fits the bill. I've been looking since I got here, this morning. The people here were very kind. I wonder how long they'll let me stay once they find out what I did.
Until I figure out what to do next, I'm going to have to deal with what came out of that horror. I doubt I'll sleep well from now on. I got a paper cut, and I'm definitely scared of blood now. I don't think I can face my family again,...
And I can't look at mirrors anymore.
After seeing my own face on that man, I broke completely. I started thinking back, but nothing made sense. I have absolutely no memory of anything I did before the 'attack'. Once I saw that face, I went to check on my aunt and grandmother. Both lay in their beds, soaked with blood already starting to dry out. I had hunting grade hand crossbows in the basement, and they both had bolts protruding from their eyes. I'm not very strong, I know, but those crossbows belonged to me. I doubt anyone else in the house even knew how to load them. It had to be me.
I haven't found anything online about what I have. The closest I could find is hallucinatory behavior and sleepwalking, but I know that's not the whole story. My guess is schizophrenia, but I can't know for sure. The doctors haven't run any tests yet. I am trying so hard not to call the cops on myself. I don't want to go to jail. But my mind can't rest after what I did. So, here I am, writing this. At least this way, everyone can know.
And if anyone I know reads this, I just need to say; I'm sorry.
Category:Mental Illness
Category:TheWizardOfTheWoods
Category:Videos