The Journal of Sullivan Jones

August 1, 2002

Just found an old composition book, and I have decided that I should write down some of my feelings, just to get it out, you know. I started eighth grade last month, and I guess that’s alright. I just don’t want to have what happened last year end up happening again this year.

August 3, 2002

I did not quite write down all that I wanted to the other night, but as with the previous years of school, ever since I started living with my dad in the fifth grade, I've started checking out. And I don’t mean just ‘spacing’ out occasionally here and there. I mean I literally turn into a whole different person whenever I’m around other kids. I turn loud and obnoxious, and I am a total weirdo. It was the worst during fifth grade, but it has been slowly getting better throughout the past three years. But the real me is quiet, shy, and reserved, quite the opposite of what that thing I despise is when I ‘check out’ (as I call it).

Afterwards when I’m back to Earth, everything that has happened during that alternate state is just a blur. It’s very depressing, because nobody gets to see the real me. They think I am just the weird kid with no self control. The thing is, I cannot stop it. It just happens. I am afraid that I will just become an empty shell if this keeps up.

September 11, 2002

I am the sickest I have ever been in my life. It * the text is unreadable due to dried vomit*

September 19, 2002

I am getting a bit better, but that is a relative term. I’m not spewing blood and vomit every two minutes, but I still feel like I was hit by a train. Luckily, I was able to wipe away the spew before it soaked all the way through the pages, so the book isn’t a total loss. Before I got sick two days ago, I had started spacing out again, but progressively worse. The last time, I was in the classroom reading, but then my memory is just a blank until I got home. That was the day before I got sick. How I am supposed to learn with this going on, when I cannot even remember the entire day, I do not know.

September 28, 2002

I seriously cannot remember the past week at all, except for when I am at home. I can barely keep track of the dates and days. I am making horrible grades because of this. I literally CANNOT learn the material because I can’t even remember being at school in the first place. In fact, the only reason I know I am going to school at all is because of the new homework I get in my backpack every night.

October 9, 2002

Today is my fourteenth birthday. I camped out in the yard with a few friends on Friday. We have a forrest in my sideyard, and tthat is where we set the tent up. it was fun and all, but, I just could not shake the feeling I was being watched. A few times, I even thought I saw a dark figure in the trees.

I couldn’t tell you what it looked like, as it was always out of the corner of my eyes. Shit, must have just been too much horror movies, since I have been on a big kick for that lately. As far as school, it has just been the same as my last entry. I have tried to explain to my parents, but they just threatened to send me to an institution if I kept up saying that. I am afraid of that happening with my therapist or psychiatrist, too, and even my school counselor. I just cannot trust them, or anybody for that matter.

October 31, 2002

I would be out with some friends tonight, but I'm too afraid of myself. The other night, I was just minding my own business, when all of a sudden I'm three miles away in a field with a mutilated body in front of me. Mutilated. Me. I found a box of matches and a can of gas on the ground next to me, and I knew what I had to do. God, it smelled aweful. I made my way home, throwing away my shirt along the way, and managed to do it without anybody noticing (it was at night).

What if I kill my friends?

November 16, 2002

I can barely remember home life now. I’m writing this during one of the few times where I am completely down to Earth. None of my friends want anything to do with me anymore. They say I am too violent. I don’t know how, because they won’t stay on the phone long enough to say more than that. I’m being grounded for the same thing at my house. Nobody believes me.

December 2, 2002

HA! TORMENT ON YOUR BEHALF.

December 3, 2002

I don’t remember writing that last entry. It’s not even my handwriting. The letters are too angry and deep. Was it even me? What is wrong with me?

December 6, 2002

YOU MUST LISTEN TO THE PROPHET.

December 16, 2002

Again, I see that weird handwriting. It is The Prophet. The Prophet tells me so.

January 1, 2003

I am hearing voices now. They call themselves The Prophet. They tell me to kill people, to DO things I would never do. I can’t live like this anymore. But I don’t want to. No! I have to wonder what I’m like 99% of the time. I can’t remember Christmas at all. Happy New Years.

January 7, 2003

I woke up last night in a nearby cow pasture. I’m crying as I write, and trust me, I would never normally do this.

I was covered in cow blood, with half eaten organs around me, a kitchen knife on the ground, and there was a pile of desecrated bodies. I love animals. I wish I knew where my dad’s shotgun was. I know some people who deserve to die for my sins.

January 23, 2003

I’ve been seeing things out of the corner of my eye. But every time I look directly at it, it’s gone. Like that poof bang OW

February 10, 2003

THE END IS FAR BUT NEAR.

February 15, 2003

I see that goddamn handwriting again. Not just in the last entry, but everywhere I go. On walls, on the ground, on my clothes, EVERYWHERE!

February 21, 2003

That thing has been visiting me at night. I can’t even begin to describe it. Funny, the only things I remember from the blank slates in my mind are the times I see that thing in the corner of my eye. But now I can look directly at it, a little bit. It just scurries away, but the movement is too quick and painful to be natural.

March 4, 2003

My handwriting is becoming like that horrible scribbling, just a little more each day. I JUST NEED to carve those angry letters into somebody’s damn forehead.

March 7, 2003

I’ve been forgetting to write this down, but I’ve had more experiences like the one at the cow pasture. But this last one… oh god… it was people...

March 16, 2003

YOU WILL BE FOUND OUT.

March 17, 2003

They have found me. I SAW IT ON THE NEWS THEY ARE COMING IN MY DIRECTION NOW. I found my dad’s shotgun, and to everybody in my life, I’m sorry.

That thing is charging me down the hallway right now. Maybe it will *text cuts off*

August 1, 2012

I found this composition book in a bathroom at school today. It had some mild water damage, and is very ratty. I took it to the lost and found, but after a week of it just sitting there, I took it for myself. I suppose I should have waited longer. Why did I write this as a new entry?

August 3, 2012

I found out who the author of the journal is. At the very bottom of the backside cover, just barely visible, it says, " PROPERTY OF SULLIVAN JONES". The thing is, I don’t remember any of this, or coming up with this story, if that's what it is.

September 11, 2012

The past week has just been a blur. What was the homework for History? I wish I wrote it down. I should remember it, seeing as it’s my last class. I guess I’m just going to start writing entries to just get out some emotion, you know? I’m feeling pretty nauseous; I should probably get some rest. My respects to the lives lost on this day.

September 19, 2012

I’m starting to remember some things that really terrify me. I can remember bits and pieces of those original entries, but only when I would have been ‘down to Earth’. Is it just my mind playing tricks on me, or am I actually crazy? I remember being terrified of something. It’s still a haze. I’m feeling a little better from my nasty illness.

September 28, 2012

The more I remember the past, the more of a blur my life becomes. I can’t really remember the past week at all.

October 9, 2012

Happy fifteen to me, I guess. I’m not doing any celebration this year, but all day I had this weird feeling like I was being watched. I even thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

October 31, 2012

It’s Halloween, and I am deathly afraid of myself. I was going over to a friend’s house when I spaced out. I woke up in a field… with his blood on my shirt… and his lifeless body five feet away. I think if I run it over with his car a few times and just say he got hit, then I can get away with it.

I killed my friend…

November 16, 2012

Life at home is just a blank slate now. It used to just be at school and with friends, but now? Shit, my grades are dropping and I’m horribly depressed.

December 2, 2012

HA! TORMENT ON YOUR BEHALF.

December 3, 2012

My God, it’s that handwriting again. I thought that last death would suffice. I remember that now. I remember it very clearly. I had my dad’s shotgun pointed at my head, and was about to pull the trigger when that THING burst in and gutted me alive before I could shoot either myself or it. I don’t trust anybody to understand this. Damn, I sure as hell don't.

December 6, 2012

YOU MUST LISTEN TO THE PROPHET.

December 16, 2012

After seeing that goddamn handwriting again in the last entry, I realized something. This is life. This is the circle of life. Death brings forth life. The Prophet tells me so.

January 1, 2013

I can't remember Christmas. The Prophet tells me so.

January 7, 2013

It happened again. I woke up in a cow pasture, with slaughtered cows all around me. I know it must have been The Prophet, because how in the hell could I manage to kill ten cows with a kitchen knife. But maybe it was me, for The Prophet tells me that I did good.

GOOD GOOD GOOD GOOD GOOD GOOD THE PROPHET TELLS ME SO!

January 23, 2013

I can see THE PROPHET now. Just a little bit out of the corner of my eye, but then it's gone...gone.

February 10, 2013

THE END IS FAR BUT NEAR.

February 15, 2013

That handwriting... I see it everywhere. everyyyyyywherrrrrre...

February 21, 2013

It visits me at night. The only memories I have of normal daily life are of me seeing glimpses of it. But the it... scuttles (?) away, but the movement is so goddamn gross.

March 4, 2013

I JUST NEED TO CARVE THOSE LETTERS INTO SOMEBODY'S FUCKING FACE! THE PROPHET tells me so. My letters take after THE PROPHET now.

March 7, 2013

The Prophet, no me, no The Prophet, no me, NO THE PROPHET, NO ME, NO THE PROPHET, US, US, US, US, USSSSSSSSSS! We have been killing people. Oh God, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!?

March 16, 2013

YOU WILL BE FOUND OUT.

March 17, 2013

I’m going to die. That thing is going to kill me, I just know it. My dad took me fishing last night, in the woods by his father's house. I refused to fish, because I thing it is cruel to the fish. But, anyways, as I was sitting there bored out of my mind, I got the feeling that I was being watched. I grabbed a flashlight, turned it on, and looked behind me into the dark forest. I didn’t see anything, so I thought it was just my nerves getting to me. This happened repeatedly for a few hours. Around midnight, I got up to take a leak in the woods. As I was peeing, I saw something moving in the woods, but I dismissed it as a deer.

It was dark, and I couldn’t see it well. As I was walking back to my seat, I thought I heard something following me in the trees behind me. I looked and saw nothing. Again, I dismissed it as my nerves. Looking back, I can see how idiotic that was of me, especially given my current situation. As I sat down, I felt I was being watched. Being annoyed by this repetitive agenda, I tried ignoring the feeling until it became unbearable, which only took roughly thirty seconds. As I shone that beeming, beautiful light behind me into the trees beyond, I saw it. I saw it for the first time up close, and I will never get that image out of my head.

Every time I blink, I see that grotesque figure staring at me. It appeared to have once been a human, maybe. Just maybe, my children. It appeared to be naked, but I could see no sexual giveaways. It had no gender. Secondly were its arms. It ARMS AND LEGS! It had limbs that were twice as long as they should have been and they were positioned like a spider might have, except they were bent backwards. The elbows were on the inside, and NOT the outside. Its hands were at least three times bigger than they should have been, and the fingers were at least a foot each without the claws.

God knows with the claws, because they were way too long. Its skin was pale, clammy, and slimy looking. It also had weird growths scattered across its body. Its neck was hideously skinny and long. There was no way it should have been able to hold up the head. Its eyeballs were torn out, its mouth extended downwards like a cobra, and it had what I think was blood trickling down its chin. Its teeth were rotted and long and pointy. I think it had random tufts of greasy black hair on its head, but I couldn’t tell in the dark. It screamed at me. An ear deafening, high pitched, unnatural scream.

My dad jumped up and started running into the woods, leaving me to whatever fate the DIVINES had chosen. It scurried that quick, painful scuttle and slashed him open with one swipe of its claws and started to gorge itself upon his intestines. I saw my chance, and bolted as fast as I could through the woods while it was distracted. Luckily, I had known the trail since I was a little bitty larvae and it is not too long, maybe ten minutes at a slow pace. I made it to my grandparents’ house, and then the rest is a blank. POOF PATCHOWAWOW! The last thing I remember before being sent here is me trying to hang myself, but the police burst in. That is all I know until I woke up in a bed with the journal and a pencil on my lap.

April 2, 2013

I am no longer in a cell, and so I can finally continue with my oh so slimy plans. It has been visiting me in my room at night and in my dreams. They say it’s all in my head, but I KNOW what I saw and what I still continue to see. I managed to smuggle a shoe lace (I think it is from a yellow work boot), and I am going to hang myself in the bathroom today.

I can hear it coming for me, its claws CLATTERING down the hallway. Nobody seems to notice. Am I really crazy? Surely not. ROT! I have the noose around my head, and I’m about to kick out the stool.