R.G. Journal

 R.G.

 April 16, 2005

           I woke up this morning, about 30 minutes ago, with a really bad headache. Like, really bad. I am finding this even hard to write. I am contemplating whether or not I should even go to work. I don’t remember doing anything crazy yesterday. I woke up, went to work, and hit the bar with Jack. I only had a few though. That’s it. Nothing I did yesterday would have caused this. After downing about 30 pain pills I tried to check my email. No power. And would you know it, when I tried to call in sick, all I got was the dial tone on my phone. The weatherman said we were going to get hit by a massive storm. I guess he was right. It’s pouring outside. Even the TV is all static. Well, I guess I’ll go in. If I feel sick I can always leave and come home. I have a vacation I was planning to save up for. At least I think I do. Who forgets a vacation they were planning. I guess it wasn’t that important.

 April 17, 2005

           Damn. I don’t remember anything from yesterday. Except for waking up with a massive headache. It’s still here though. It’s getting slightly better though. I still don’t have power or anything. It’s also still pouring. Maybe even worse than yesterday. Right after getting up I went out on my porch. A really thick fog settled in my street. I was out there for a few minutes. I noticed that the man who lives across the street sitting on his porch. I don’t usually see him outside. He was just sitting in his rocking chair staring at me. He was out there the entire time I was. About an hour after I went inside I looked outside. He was gone. Probably went back in, being an old man and all. He’s been looking healthier though. It’s almost time for me to go to work as I’m writing this. I am so damn tired and my head hurts so damn much though. I can’t call in sick. My phones dead. I think they’ll understand if I don’t call in. I’m sure they’ll understand, having the massive headache that I do. We’re also in the middle of a god damned monsoon right now. I’m just going to head off to bed.

 April 18, 2005

           Holy shit. It’s 6 am. I must’ve slept for about 20 hours straight. My headache is gone though. The rain stopped, but the fog is still there. I can barely see down the street. I guess it’s that global warming or whatever. My power is still out though! Really? I’m going to have to call my internet and phone providers. What am I paying them for, no service? Well, I’m going to head to work.

 April 19, 2005

           Seriously?! I still have no power, my headache is back and that damn fog is still filling my street! I have no way of calling anyone. It looks like I’ll have to walk to someone’s house to use their phone! Fuck it! I’m taking the day off work again. I gotta’ get this stuff squared away. In other news, old man rockity rock is out on his porch again, looking like a dying old gargoyle.

 April 20, 2005

           I am scared. I think I was mugged yesterday. All I remember is leaving the house, and then, I don’t remember anything. I must’ve got hit on the head hard. My headache is still here. There is no way I’m going into work today. I am actually really creeped out right now. The old man across the street is outside. I am mentally battling between going over and talking to him and staying in. I don’t know why I am feeling a sense of dread. There is something off about him. The way he is just staring at my house. It’s really creeping me out. I’m gonna hunker down for a bit.

           Alright, about 5 hours ago I decided to just relax but some really weird fucking shit has been happening! Not only has the old man not moved, but other shit has been happening in my house. The fog outside has grown very thick. I can barely see across the street. A lot of the lights in my house have been flickering on and off. I am also hearing strange noises. It sounds like another language. There is no one in my house, trust me. I looked thoroughly. I am just so tired right now.

 April 21, 2005

           Don’t know why I’m still writing. I guess to keep me sane. The only reason I feel good enough to write is probably because my headache is gone. I’m a prisoner in my own home by a force I have no knowledge of. In other news, old man Jenkins is off his porch. I had to squint to see. The fog outside has become so thick. The strange happenings grow more frequent. My TV keeps randomly turning on full blast to a screen full of static. I am scared shitless. It’s like someone is trying to scare me outside of my own home. I don’t know whether or not I should go out or not. I am going to sleep on it. Now that I’m thinking about it, that old man … there was something strange about his eyes.

 April 22, 2005

<p class="MsoNormal">           The old man is back out on his porch. I’m ready. That’s it. I’ve got my 32. And a baseball bat. I have to get out of here. I’ll do my best to see through the fog, but I have to go. I don’t know why I’m bringing weapons. If I get caught I don’t know how I’ll explain it. It just feels sane. I don’t want to get jumped in the fog. I don’t like the looks of that old man either. Wish me luck.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh god. I can’t explain it! You won’t believe me. I hope they can’t hear! I got one of them! Oh, his eyes! Whoever you are, if I survive this. There is no way you’ll believe what you’re reading. I have to try though. I am back at my house, luckily, alive. I’ll try to explain this as calmly as possible. A few hours ago I traveled into the fog. I didn’t get far. After getting a few hundred feet down the street I noticed a black figure following me in the mist. When I got closer to him he would just disappear. I said screw it. After I tried walking a few more minutes I turned around blasting my 32. I let out a full clip. I hit something. It laid there lifeless. As I got closer to his corpse my heart felt it was going to pop out of my chest. It was the old man. My skin instantly began to crawl as I gazed upon his body. It was his eyes. His eyes where pitch black. No pupil, nothing! Pitch black. There was no blood either. I hit him. I hit the bastard. There were holes. The only thing leaking out of him was this awful black sludge. As soon as I saw this I ran like hell. I didn’t get very far because I hit a wall. When I say I hit a wall, I mean I hit a wall. There was a metal wall. I followed the wall. It seemingly went in a circle. I soon realized I was enclosed in some sort of metal dome. I entered one of the houses. I had to break down the door. At this point, every hair in my body stood up. There was nothing in the house. Nothing. No light fixtures, no furniture, nothing! The only thing in the house was a decaying corpse. It laid in the middle of the floor in what would have been a living room I assume. It must’ve been there a long time. I threw up. That was it. I ran back, doing my best to find the house I believed to be mine. I am back here now, held up with the door blocked and the windows boarded up. I have my gun ready. The strange voices are everywhere! They are loud. I don’t know where they are coming from but they sound angry! I don’t know what kind of sick fucking game this is, but they aren’t gonna’ take me alive.

<p class="MsoNormal"> April 23, 2005

<p class="MsoNormal"> I’ve been up all night. I am just writing April 23 for the hell of it. For the sake of continuity. I have no idea where I am or what the date is. I haven’t slept all night. The light in the sky, or whatever it is, hasn’t changed. There is no sun or moon. It’s been dark for hours, when it should be morning. Strangely, since about 8 hours ago the voices stopped. I have no idea of the time. The only reason I say that is because all the clocks in my house stopped working. Not long after the voices stopped, I began experiencing what felt like small earthquakes. I can hear loud banging coming from outside. I don’t understand. Nothing had happened other than that. I will continue to wait.

<p class="MsoNormal"> ?

<p class="MsoNormal"> I am badly hurt. How I’m still alive is beyond me. It won’t be much longer if I had to guess. I’m sitting in a debris field right now. I’m surrounded by smashed houses and metal pieces. It looks like someone picked up a neighborhood and dropped it a mile to earth. The debris field is filled with strange mechanical looking machinery. I’ve given up trying to make sense of any of this. I’ve accepted my inevitable demise. I don’t know if the dome I was in exploded or crashed from space. The blast knocked me unconscious. I just woke up. I’m in some sort of desert. There is sand everywhere. I’m breathing air so I’m pretty sure I’m on earth. I gave up examining the wreckage after I found a pod lying in a crater about 20 feet away from where I woke up. I don’t know what the contents of the pod are. I tried to get it open but I’m too weak. Whatever’s in there it’s in better shape than me. I’m going to do my best here and see if I can walk.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I’ve walked about a mile. I’m done. There is nothing left in me. I’m kneeling on a highway road. I will surely die here. I see two black SUV’s approaching me. I won’t let them have this journal. I’m not trusting anyone. Not anymore. Not after this. I see a rock that would be good to hide this under. I will hide it there then accept my fate, whatever it may be. If you find this, perhaps you’ll know what happened to me. Come to think of it, I can’t remember my name. All I have is the initials R.G. written in my journal. Good luck making sense of it. If you ever find out who I was, tell my story. The SUV’s are really close. Whether or not they’re coming to help doesn’t matter to me. I am hiding this journal. My head hurts really badly now <span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">… At least I died near a street sign. It’s good to know I’m on Earth. My memory is shot, but I do know that no alien planet is going to have a sign with a cow on it. The sign says <span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">“ Welcome to Roswell, Dairy Capital of the Southwest <span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">”. That’s all I know. Oh, my watch it working again. Never mind, the dates all messed up. It says July 7, 1947. Whoever you are, again I say good luck. I can’t take the pain anymore. Signing out <span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"">… <p class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;">_____________________________________________________________________________ <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "X-Files","sans-serif"">This is an excerpt from a journal that I sent in a package labeled only “R.G. Journal” to the FBI after they began searching for the man I believe is R.G. I thought this a hoax until recently a man went missing with the same initials and description as the man in the journal. The pages before this excerpt describe a life style eerily similar to the man that went missing. I saved only these pages. I burned the rest. The FBI only commented on how strange the journal was. The date entries were recent but the journal appeared to be over 50 years old. The case has since been thrown out. They called it a fake. They sent it back to the post office that I sent it from. That is where I picked it back up. I needed them to know. I found this journal when I was 7 years old as I was simply playing with a ball on the side of the road. I can’t hold on to it anymore. I am too old to keep this a secret. All I can do is write this on the internet. No one will believe me, but I hope some of you will take this to heart. Use this knowledge wisely. Expose the men that covered this up. The journal is gone but this excerpt remains. I will probably, unfortunately, bring them to the grave with me, being the only one who knows the truth. I won’t live much longer, but if you want the truth, all you need do is ask and seek.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "X-Files","sans-serif"">-Joshua Norton

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "X-Files","sans-serif"">Jakx118@yahoo.com