Saturday, June 11, 2011

Damien's Notebook: Entry 4

I'm starting to think I may be in a bit out of my depths. Between what was discussed in the comments last night and what I just transcribed, I'm concerned. Not about the notebook, but about its contents. If this monster is as real as Damien says, if it is capable of what is described below and it comes after me and my loved ones like it did his, I... I don't know what I'd do. Reading this journal, I'm amazed that Damien was able to hold everything together, but I've also seen him at his very lowest,  begging for death as everything was taken from him. All the things he described on his blog and in this notebook (There are entries in here that are incredibly graphic, even compared to this one) are unbelievable. Yet Damien believed every bit was happening, and so does Kiera, and so many others. I can't help but wonder if I've been dragged into something far beyond what I imagined.

Still, this book, this work that I'm transcribing right now, is everything. The journal and my story about what happened in April and May are my chance at making it. And I need to make it now more than ever... I don't expect you people to understand.

I found this entry today. It's a follow-up to Entry 2 and it's... just read it. 


I remember now. Saw that thing on the news watching me from that house and it was like pieces falling into place. It was like the memories were always there. I knew it should be but I wasn't ready. TheArsonist mentioned it when I spoke with mother but to actually remember it?

This can't go on the blog. Just here. Where I can see it. Where I can remember.

I was seven. Ted, Emily and I had snuck out. No idea where the babysitter was. She could've stopped this. No, not her fault. It was my idea. If I'd never told them to come with me into the woods that night we'd have never seen it rip and tear and mangle and destroy

I don't know how we got there. We'd seen it before, but it was always locked. The great green door was always locked. Except for that night when we went inside. Everything would be different if that door was locked, if I'd not insisted on going in. They'd all be alive. We'd all be alive.

Don't remember much inside. It was dark and light at the same time. All I know is the others wanted to go back but I kept pushing us forward. It was me. I lead our trip into the woods. I took us into the building. I was the one who had to explore. It's all my fault. All my fucking fault. They're all dead and it's my fault and if I just (I find it worth noting there's a few small spots on the page here. I honestly think they're from tears)

I'm okay.  I have to be okay. Fuck this. I have to write this down. In case I forget again.

We found ourselves in this room lit by fires held in large, gold bowls. We were on a balcony, overlooking a small room. I remember symbols on the wall (Here Damien drew four symbols, one is the inverted triangle with a cross from this picture, one is the so-called "Operator's symbol", another is a small man with no face, and the final one is three jerky horizontal lines, likely meant to resemble water). And then it was there, below us with these two kids and God he had a baby. Those sick fucks gave him a baby My own goddamn parents

And then he just started tearing them apart. Emily and Ted were crying, covered their eyes, looked away. I couldn't. I watched him pull bones out of a girl and force his tentacles into where they were. I saw him pluck each tooth from the boy's mouth before tearing his jaw off. I the baby was just destroyed. Tiny limbs and head and blood everywhere. Totally destroyed. And I watched and listened the whole time, heard him sing that terrible fucking song of life cut short. I can still hear it. A decade later, a decade of forgetting and now that I remember I can hear it like its yesterday.

He covered that room in those kids, in their organs and blood and skin and then he stopped and all I could think was how monstrous and terrifying and beautiful he was and for some fucked up reason some little piece of me wondered what it would be like to control all that power. At that moment, he looked at me. My brain caught fire. I screamed. I felt Ted and Emily grab my hands and pull me away.

And that's it. I just remember being at home after and my parents yelling at me for running away.

My life changed in one night. All of this set in motion in one night. And every bit of it my fault."


  1. Alex. Let me just confirm for you.

    You ARE in over your head.

    Please believe me, it's not that I don't understand. I understand completely. It's you who doesn't understand the shitfest you're about to wade neck-deep into. I'm BEGGING you, for your own safety - run. Put the book down, pick up your loved ones, and get the fuck out of dodge. Never look back.

    If you want to "make it", THAT'S what you have to do. Pursuing Damien's story only leads to darkness.

  2. You want me and my family to run and never come back? Please, tell me you're joking.

    I'm barely making ends meet as it is. My mother and Dean just called an hour ago and they sure as hell can't afford it now either. Todd is still in school. Judith is finishing up her education in summer school. Her entire family is here as well. Do you expect me to pull them all out of their lives too?

    This is my one chance. Why can't you people understand that? This book is everything. I'm not going to abandon this. I'm not dropping my life and spending what little money my family has on the CHANCE something bad happens.

    No. This will work out. It has to fucking work out.

  3. Alex. I don't think you quite get what I'm saying here. It's not just a CHANCE that something bad will happen. It WILL happen; there's no getting around it. It hurtles closer and closer the longer you fiddle around with that book.

    But let's think about this one for a moment. Perhaps a metaphor will get through to you.

    Do you know why there are so many car crashes with drunk drivers, specifically drunk twenty-somethings? It's because they always think to themselves, "Oh, I can have a few beers. I'm a good driver, nothing'll happen to me." "Oh, who cares about my seatbelt, it's a quiet night, nothing'll happen to me." Same thought process with unwanted pregnancies: "Oh, I don't need protection. Other people get STDs and stuff, but nothing'll happen to me." Or, honestly, any other unforseen problem/disaster. "Leaving my purse here unguarded is probably a bad idea, but screw it. I can keep an eye on it. Nothing'll happen to me." "They say cocain's addictive, but I've got a pretty strong will, I can stop any time I want to. Nothing'll happen to me."

    It's literally an underdeveloped brain function at this age, Alex. You're smart, you're capable, and you think you're immortal. You think nothing bad could POSSIBLY happen to you as long as you stay in control. What you don't realize is that you're already OUT of control, Alex. The only way to get it back is by overcoming yourself, and WALKING. AWAY.

    If you can't move away, fine. It can't be helped. It's worth noting, however, that people have chosen to be homeless rather than face what Damien faced, and the point of no return is practically around the corner.

    You say you don't want to risk moving because it would heavily damage your family's financial stability. Are you willing to risk their lives because there's a CHANCE you'll be able to make some money off it?

    Pick your priorities, dude.

  4. Mistakes will always haunt you.

  5. Funny thing is, Alex, I'm a writer too. Aspiring novelist in fact. Assuming I live long enough, I want to do exactly what you're doing and achieve independence and financial solvency. Of course, I'm not going to bargain with cosmic hell-beings to do it. I'm going to do it with my own talent, time, and energy.

    In other words: I've got BALLS OF STEEL. And I'll crack my way into the world of novels sooner or later. On my own merit. Meanwhile, you're busy reprinting Damien's insanity, risking your and Judith's minds, and generally acting like the Husband/Boyfriend from Paranormal Activity, rather than proving you've got your own talent to burn. What's it like, being the boyfriend from Paranormal Activity? You know the one, who says he has everything under control, and couldn't POSSIBLY call in a specialist who actually knows about this stuff. You also won't listen to the psychic in the movie who's saying shit is hitting the fan.

    I guess I'm just overreacting. I really shouldn't worry. You've got it ALL under control. Going to pull out an Ouija board to piss of the demon, next?