Is this just a blog for me to bitch about the politics of the situation, or do I get to talk about the weird shit that happens to me? Like the fact that my brother's still missing, and everyone but me has just assumed he's dead? They had a funeral and everything. I was invited. I didn't go. Said I was drunk. They believed me. It was true.
In the week before I had to throw all my stuff in storage, I got another five or so pages of that manuscript, and read them. Including the bit that was labeled "Night Seven." Other than that, I don't have any notes from the nights, just from the days. And it's gotten...rather strange. I don't know how else to say that. I don't really want to think about the implications for all of this, but...if my brother isn't dead, he's in a very bad place.
And then I left the old apartment. Got a truck, took everything to a storage unit, and walked away. I've been living off of years and years of insurance payments from my parents, and got quite a bit when Nick disappeared as well. (I know I said that I had "very little money" before, but that's just not the case. I just have very little money that I haven't been using to drink away my problems.) I could have bought a new car right away, or I could have gotten a new apartment, and moved, whatever. But instead I just walked, and I spent around two weeks in the fields and woods, wandering, and drinking, and every once in a while sobering up and getting a meal at Denny's, or IHOP, or whatever was closer. Hell, McDonald's, fuck it.
And then...about two weeks ago, I'd say, something happened. I think I drank too much, or maybe I smoked something I shouldn't have, ate something I shouldn't have, hell, maybe a mixture of all of the above. And I did what I've been doing. Wandered away from town, into the trees and fields to the west. I'd sleep under the stars if it was dry, and in the trees if it wasn't. You'd be surprised, but there's quite a bit of woods in Northern Illinois for someone to disappear into, if they're so inclined.
But this time...this time was different. I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep. Fuck, I drank an entire bottle of Smirnoff trying to make it go away. But there was something in the trees. Something...wrong. I don't know how else to say that. After I'd drank the entire bottle, and it was still there, I started trying to get away from it, but staying in the trees. Being, y'know, drunk, I started panicking, and running aimlessly, until I...ran into...something. I looked up, and I saw it, and I don't know what I saw because I remember nothing at all about it. I know I pushed myself off of it, got caught, and started sprinting. I know that I opened my hand once I was in the moonlight, and saw very clearly what was in my hand, and I know that I damn near got run over by a car when I sprinted across the road.
The police were called, I was panicked, and I spent the night in the drunk tank. And, in the intense shine of the flourescent lights in the police station, I know I opened my hand again to find it empty.
The next morning, I checked my bank account, realized that I had a lot of money there that I'd been ignoring, and I paid my fine. I bought a car, and went through the process of renting an apartment. Prorated for the month of May. Unfortunately, the only apartment I was able to find was in the closest thing to wilderness as can be found within two hours of Chicago. And so I'm still concerned. I stay sober now. I'm hoping that whatever I saw was just an illusion brought about by my drinking. But just in case it isn't? I keep a machete by the door, just in case. And I park right by the door. And even though this is a small town in the middle of nowhere, I still lock my doors. And keep the shades drawn.
Because I never know what's out there.