User blog comment:Witnessme/Creepypasta Short Story Contest/@comment-27068878-20151012032258

Tim’s Journal

2/2/2014

My mother has always had certain levels of paranoia. But recently they are stronger. She no longer trusts anyone...

2/14/14

She’s completely broken. She constantly speaks of Armageddon and prays for relief from her “visions”. I lie awake every night listening to her lurk around in the utter blackness of our house. Every hour the door to my room creaks open as she approaches my bed with a thousand yard stare on her pale face. Everytime she utters, “He’s safe”.

2/23/14

The doctors have said that she is likely a schizophrenic, but nobody can do anything about her unless she proves to be a treat to either herself or someone else.

2/30/14

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">My mother is now frequenting arguments with an imaginary being known as “Tom”. I sometimes think that she is trying to say my name, which is Tim, but she insists that she is not talking to me. I asked my father where she could’ve gotten this particular name from. He has no response.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:700;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">5/5/2014

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Mom was brought away to the psych-ward. I am relieved and saddened.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:700;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">6/13/2014

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">It’s my birthday. Not an ideal one, rather stormy. I went to go visit Mom. She said that I musn’t return home. Today of all days Tom is an angry fellow.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-8472af01-5a11-efb8-19fb-0970ffb546ce" style="line-height:2.4;text-align:center;"><span style="color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:Arial;font-size:14.6667px;font-weight:700;white-space:pre-wrap;line-height:2.4;">6/13/2015

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:2.4;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:Arial;font-size:14.6667px;line-height:2.4;white-space:pre-wrap;text-align:center;">It’s been a year since the incident. I arrived home to find Dad slouched over on the couch, his throat was slit. I turned around to find a near identical version of myself glaring at me; the same in every aspect, except he was covered in blood. “It’s not fair only one of us lived to see 18!” my twin screamed. I await death penalty. They didn’t buy the story. <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#ffffff;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">