Portal House - Chapter 12

Entry #26

JESSIE:

Entry #26: Fatigue, body aches, no appetite, shortness of breath. 142/88.

I feel like this house is killing me. They’re killing me.

I can hear them breathing as they watch me through the ceiling vents. The ones in the attic don’t like to come down unless you open the door. But they watch me. I can feel it, like a sunburn starting to itch before it blisters. Like I have a fever.

I KNOW HOW IT SOUNDS. I’M QUESTIONING MYSELF AS I THINK THESE THOUGHTS AND WRITE THEM DOWN.

If I thought it would make it stop, I’d blind myself. I know in my gut that no amount of mutilation would keep them out. I just wouldn’t see anything else but them. They’ve infected me.

You’re probably going to find me in one of these closets, in the middle of writing in this stupid notebook, and wonder where you went wrong. I’m not asking you to change your belief system. I just want you to tell me I’m not crazy. Or tell me that I am and that it’s all going to get better with treatment.

Image by Jacked Faction

I begged him to take off work for a few days just so we could get some rest at a hotel. Of course, he’s still pretty deep in denial, so he thought it was a veiled request for a birthday trip. He’s too thoughtful for his own good, sometimes. Now we have to wait two more weeks. Two more weeks of being jolted awake by scratching sounds above our heads, or the tub faucet turning on by itself. Or the little girl…

I don’t know what happened to that girl, or how old she was. I don’t even know if I’d recognize a photo of her. All I know is that I keep finding wispy, long blonde hairs everywhere. As light as blonde gets. Thin and stringy. It has that look that baby hair has on the ends when it’s never been cut. She must have died so young.

I hear her footsteps, small and quick, bare feet smacking on the hardwood floor. Sometimes it’s a tiny laugh or a sigh, right in my ear, so that I feel a presence.

She hides under our bed.

Behind chairs, and in cabinets, too, when she is really playful. She has fun playing hide and seek, always giggling.

Something changes, though, when she hides under the bed. No laughing when she’s there. She hides there out of fear, I think. Her fear spreads upward and outward like black mold. It chokes and gags me. She’s so scared, even though she’s already gone. There’s nothing left to lose, but she still hides from something that lives here. Somewhere in the front bedroom that looks out onto the road. It has to be in there. I can’t even walk through that door without feeling dizzy.

What’s the point of this? To torture me even more than they do? To make sure that any sleep I get is riddled with nightmares? I feel like we’re both at our limit. He’d never admit it, but I see him wearing thin. I wonder what the hell he thinks is happening, and I’m simultaneously jealous that he can stay ignorant of it.

Last night I woke up to him standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Just standing there. He kind of swayed a little, like he wasn’t fully awake. I tried to call out his name, but then he turned to me. I swear he looked right through me. Then he got right back into bed. He remembers nothing. What the hell is that? What is happening to us?

Anyway, you know how much I hate this. I’m going to install the new cameras tomorrow. Then maybe I’ll catch something definitive that I can show you, or show anyone.

No one believes me. Not even him.

To Be Continued…