Perfectown



I was exhausted. I had just gotten home from another day of forced monotony that we call a job. I wanted nothing more than to kick back with a cold beer and watch the hockey game. I walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer before shambling to the entertainment room. Still warm. Damn. I sat down in my comfiest recliner. The footrest sprung up, and I pushed the back down far enough so I could just see the TV. I grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The TV flickered on, filling the room with the sound of hockey. It wasn’t the same without the cold beer.

I reluctantly sat back up and got out of my chair, and made my way to the stairs leading up to the attic.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the dark, musty room, thick with the stench of mold. I grabbed the flashlight that I kept by the attic door and clicked it on. I made my way around all the boxes, coming to the back of the attic. There I found the fuse box. I set the flashlight down and began to tinker with the fuses. A bit of light caught the corner of my right eye. I thought nothing of it, being too predisposed with my task. I finished fixing the fuse and turned to my right to grab the flashlight. But it wasn’t there. I put the flashlight down with my left hand. That’s when it hit me. Where did that light I saw come from? I recollected the flashlight and walked to the right of where I was. It didn’t take me long. I came to the side of my attic, where a crack in the wall was shining a brilliant white. I thought that maybe this was the end of my house, and the crack led to outside. But that was impossible. There was way more house below this light, and it couldn’t lead outside. It was nighttime.

I should have walked away, forgotten about it. Hell, if it was the middle of the day I probably would have. But my curiosity got the better of me. I used the butt-end of the flashlight to hammer through the wood where the light was emanating from. The larger I made the hole, the brighter my attic got. Soon, the hole was large enough for me to crawl through. I steeled myself before sticking my head through the hole. I came out in a room much like my rec room at home, but lit up by beautiful sunlight. I stood up and looked around. First thing I noticed was it was perfectly clean. Not a thing out of place, no dust anywhere. The second thing I noticed was the window. I walked over and looked out. What I saw was amazing. It was a small little village. Small houses placed close together. I figured I was crazy. I went back through the hole and shoved a box in the way to block the light coming through. I went back downstairs to my entertainment room and turned on the hockey game.

I forgot about the hole for weeks. My life was pretty normal. I followed the usual routine of work and friends, and when the hole did cross my mind, I passed it off as a dream. But the thoughts became more and more frequent. I became less and less sure of the idea that the hole was a dream. I had to go back.

I decided that tonight was the night I go through the hole again. I’ve been preparing myself for days. I know I can’t do this, but I know I have to. I work my way slowly to the attic and slide the box out of the way. Yes, the hole is still there. I was hoping it wasn’t. But I knew I had to go on. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled forward through the hole. I found myself one more in that same room again. I walked to the window to see nothing had changed. Everything was still the same. I wanted to go outside, to explore, but there was no door. I slid the window open and dropped down onto the perfectly manicured grass. I decided to go left. I just walked. I wanted to know what this place was.

I actually passed a few people on the streets as I went. They smiled and waved. Perfectly friendly. I passed a library, a hospital… all perfect. Clean, fully functional… It was amazing.

That was a month ago. I’ve been living here ever since. But recently… I’ve been feeling different. Seeing things I know aren’t there. Horrible images. Images you should not see. Images I cannot even begin to describe. I’ve also been struck with an insatiable thirst for bloodshed. For flesh. For death at my own hands. I crave the feeling of entrails wrapping around my hands.

I went to the library and looked at a book of the towns history. What I saw… Oh god. Every forty years, the town entices one member of our world to theirs. This person is charged with the task of venturing into their world, and receiving all the accumulated evil from the last forty years. Their world is allowed to exist in perfect harmony at the expense of one of ours.

But… I can’t cope with this anymore. These images. This thirst. This… primal hunger for death. I don’t want to do this. I think I’m ready to come home…

Excerpt taken from the Journal of Jeffrey Dahmer, 1978.