Non Compos Mentis

So, I'm not even sure if I can explain my current situation, let alone find sufficient reasoning to really bother documenting it, but I'm going to do my best to put it into words for my remaining sanity's sake. It's going to be trying to put this all down, and I hope I'm making sense with everything I write. I've been through episode upon episode, and genuinely lost my mind several times to only get blasted bits and pieces back.

I've fully acknowledged that the person I used to be has essentially been erased, and I'll most likely never get back to him. But I think I've gotten to a manageable point or place of mind now, given the extraordinary circumstances. Yes, things have happened in this cabin that are unspeakable and utterly incomprehensible. I've always considered myself an acutely rational person before this all occurred, but these days I've had to battle and wrangle my beaten head into accepting that yes, this is all really happening, and yes, I am indeed here experiencing it all.

Yes, I am sitting here. And yes, something beyond explanation is obviously at play. And most of all, no, this is certainly not normal or natural. At least not in our observable or understandable nature. At this point I'm open to any possibility or possible explanation. If that clown I saw that day here can ever have a rational explanation.

Where am I? Why, I'm sitting right here on my living room sofa in my cabin, currently shivering and bare-ass naked. The shivers are definitely here to stay, no question. The couch is understuffed and shredded to all living hell, but I've not much in the way of amenities here. Anyway, I'm here. My body is wracked with a sort of primal tension and I'm constantly on the cusp of what I can only sum up as a total mental shutdown. Things have taken on a decidedly hazy and lightheaded film.

I've accepted that I've lost my mind dozens of times already, over and over in succession and to the same end. Just trying to keep my head in line is a true living hell in here. My days mostly consist of holing up right here in the living room, underneath the blue pleated cover or the flimsy brown sheet and just battling with my mind in between that thing's "visits". Day in, day out. Just plain blurry madness in my mind as I try to process everything. Processing a bowl of fingers deciding to appear on my nightstand. I barely do or remember anything much else than that; processing. I wake here or there just about every day. Shit and urine smeared all around me, sometimes not, screaming into the floor and hoping that thing would just burst through the windows and end me already.

What is my problem? My problem is that I have not been outside this building in a very long time. I can't determine exactly how long, since it has taken precise care to destroy any calendar or journal I've attempted to make, but it's likely been several months. What is *it*? Well, to attempt to put it simply, something unexplainable has happened and continues to happen which makes it a very bad idea to go outside, or do much of anything else.

I am being stalked and basically systematically tortured by some entity and I know I can't make it safely out of this cabin because it's living in my front lawn. The thing is, I know it's not a person or group of people doing it. Obviously. Nor an animal, or any worldly being. At least not this world. I mean, it can be whatever it wants, but its original form is unknown to me.

Describing what has been affecting me is a near-impossible task. I can't get my head around it after all this time, as if doing so is humanly impossible. It's like God himself is hexing me and trying to make me lose it completely. Sending little needling China dolls with soft flesh after me as I'm sleeping. Appearing to me in the kitchen doorway as a burn victim and holding me down and having me choke on smoke and scorched skin. Having my father nonchalantly walk into the living room, suffer a cardiac arrest and disintegrate into the carpet a dozen times over, one after the other.

The best I can make of it after all this time is that I think it works mostly in the mind, though not entirely. Or maybe the opposite. Like it's something that can jump into minds and see what's in them. Find out what they're scared of and make it a reality. I know for a fact that it lives off fear, like that's what allows it to survive. That's why it's gone after me, why it's trapped me in here and fucked with me for so long. It'll show up often, always as something that shatters my will. Always a horror, always some wretched creation, always a form that ruins me and pushes me that much closer to the brink.

I've peeked out the window before, shortly after it all started and before the garbage bags were put up. I peeled back the blinds, trying to figure just what the hell had made that screaming noise and smashed against the front door like that. I remember darting my eyes around my sizable front lawn, scanning the same treeline over and over before spotting what seemed to be a medium-built man in a bona fide clown outfit; red wig, facepaint, multicolor puffball suit and all. He just oddly walked out of the treeline like it was his yard, wearing a stoneface expression, and looking almost as if he was gliding across the grass as he took each step.

My sudden panic gave way to befuddlement, which turned into an amused disbelief as I watched the sight with an uneasy smirk. Before I could collect myself any further, the clown stopped walking, his body unnaturally still as he quickly turned to face my direction by executing a gliding shift on his clown shoe-clad heels. He just extended his arm towards me in a point and a piercing phantom pain in my temples promptly put me down on the kitchen floor. That was the last day I was outside.

I can't even crawl to and from rooms without some awful mind-retarding experience. It won't even let me walk anymore, so I just have to crawl and pull my dead weight around like an invalid. It was probably last week when I dared myself to slowly inch my way into the bathroom for the first time in ages, and was casually met with my decades-deceased grandmother seated on the edge of the bathtub, several extra pairs of gnarled arms protruding from her tremoring back as she cackled at me and said that I should've been aborted. I just stared at the floor. Stared at the fucking bathroom tiles for the longest time with that foul imitation still there. I just turned and crawled away to go to the couch and dry heave. It has beyond broken me and my psyche truly feels like a little brown twig primed to snap.

I'm thinking that I came here a few months ago just as a usual visit. Check on the mechanics and plumbing, do the general upkeep, clean the place as necessary and just have a typical relaxing visit away from general bullshit. Yeah. Had the place for a couple years, recently made some needed improvements to the crumbling fireplace and shitty kitchen floor, and was ready to just enjoy it alone those couple days.

It was the weekend before I was supposed to go to my orientation, and I was pretty frantic there to get things settled here. Yeah, it was a Saturday, that's when I saw the clown and he put me in here to rot. Well, hopefully they were able to fill the position without me anyhow. To be honest, it seems the entire world is able to get along just fine without me, due to no one apparently bothering to take the thirty-five minute drive over here to check on me during my unplanned engagement here. Everyone probably thinks I just said fuck it and ran off. No one ever even called me. Not even Kimberley. I still don't understand it. I hope the monster didn't deal with them somehow.

But I know there's something else going on. Another part of this whole situation that doesn't make sense - as if any of this does - but still. This thing affects my mind and appears before me daily to petrify me, but that seems to be all it does. It could just burst past the front door any time it wants and stick a horrid clawed hand through my throat and be done with me - but it never does. But now I'm thinking I know why.

The other night I woke up on the living room floorboards again and it was immediately on me, assailing my thought processes and instilling its terror as usual. I didn't even see it coming, I'm just never out of its reach. But after a moment, I felt something in it I hadn't before - weakness. Like the sense that it had somehow been beaten before and a forgotten chink in its armor came to light - like it was a surprise to both of us. What would normally send me into a state of unconsciousness, that concentrated bolt of panic, merely felt as if it had uselessly banged against my brain and fizzled out.

My eyes were then open, and for the first time in who knows how long I felt my mind begin to clear somewhat. That's part of the reason why I've found myself able to compose this note and begin to think a bit more clearly. That and it seems like it's beginning to gradually lose interest in me, or it's somehow losing its capabilities. Jeez, I don't even really recall eating or drinking anything since I've been in here now that I think of it, and my bet is that the creature is allowing me to live when I probably shouldn't even be breathing.

Well, it's most likely well past midnight by now, despite it feeling like I'm in an active microwave oven. It's not like I could check outside anyhow, on account of the several garbage bags now neatly plastered over every opening of the house. No, that wasn't my doing. My captor felt it appropriate to perpetually bathe me in dark. Every inconvenience, every pain no matter how minor, is taken into account and inflicted. Windows and door cracks, all sealed up tight from the outside and creating a sort of near-unbearable pressurized enclosure. I think I've mentioned this all before.

If my head is serving me right - which I believe it is now - I've been here in the cabin for four or five months. It's probably summer, and I'm still in here. To be honest, I'm stuck. As I've explained, "trapped" is more like it. But that fucking thing hasn't really bothered me for the past while. Few days, probably. Going to go look around here while it seems to be inactive or whatever.

. . .

Saturday. Saturday was the day the clown trapped me. The clown, the being, they're all the same. It's Tuesday night now. I've been in this cabin for three days. It's made three days stretch on for a lifetime. I know it's been three days because I found the calendars and journals I tried to write in the bathroom closet all ripped up. Closet key in my pants, my pants in the hamper near the sofa. The beast is trying to trick me again, this is supposed to be its grandest one, trying to ruin and wipe my mind completely. It feigned its "weakness", it was never weak and never left. It moved the garbage bags from the outside to the inside. I can see them all over the living room and kitchen windows now. Duct tape rolls lying on sofa. It's making fabricated messages show up on my phone now. Kimberley wants to know where I was over the weekend, it says. Tried opening front door, no resistance, went outside. Floodlights come on. Kimberley's maroon Chevy Cruz in the front lawn, parked where clown was. Maroon blood staining maroon car's windshield, driver's side door open and Kimberley lying on the grass with red popped balloon laid carefully over her red popped face. Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit.

Another sick hallucination brought about by the being. Another drop in the fucking bucket. Take Desert Eagle from side of "Kimberley" and bring it into house. Look back at "phone", most recent text says Kimberley's coming over to visit Saturday. She should've just stayed home. I've been in this room for years. I am under attack from this unnatural being. Dad had another heart attack in the living room, I can confirm. I am under attack. I go to bathroom mirror, only one in house that hasn't been smashed. Not naked anymore, not sure for how long that's been the case. Been the illusion. Dressed as clown in the treeline, I am certain I am not seeing this. I am not holding the Eagle in my hand. It's in my mind again, it's in my mind again. I'm sorry Kimberley. I'm so so sorry. You shouldn't have screamed. Sorry that the beast got to you and it's trying to blame me. Eagle somehow enters my mouth. One last balloon to pop. So sorry this had to happen to us Kimberley.

I'm so mad. I'm so sorry.

*Written by Dr. Frank N. Furter

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