Trying to Decide if I Should Use My Old Room to Resurrect my Girlfriend. Thoughts?

Part I

Okay, let me cut to the chase. My name is Zoe. I’m 27, brown hair, bob cut, 5’8 on a good day and 7 every other. I’m big into mahjong, 90s rock, and my girlfriend, who died last night. Of course, none of this will matter to you if this works.

As nonchalant as that may come across, I’m absolutely devastated. Avery was my everything, and I guess I just don’t know how to deal with it yet. We’d been dating for almost 5 years. Our anniversary would’ve been in July. I planned on being by her side for the rest of our lives, I guess I kinda was.

We met at a frat party, funny enough. It was both our junior years. I was getting my undergrad in bio and hers was stats. I wasn’t really invited, but by chance I caught my roommate, Tori, on her way out and she told me I could tag along. Of course, it’d be a $5 fee, and I’d have to get the Uber home- a no brainer type of deal. By the time we showed up I was high out of my mind and itching to snag someone’s vape. The music bumped, numbingly loud. It made my whole body vibrate as Tori and I stalked through the labyrinthine frat house. I remember thinking that we were about to have an amazing night.

That’s when I saw her, Avery, across the room. She was playing pong with some others I didn’t recognize. Their faces blurred as my vision tunneled on Avery. She wore a tight, neon green faux leather jumpsuit with an oppressively bright orange waistband. On her wrists and ankles, she sported some fuzzy rainbow sweatbands. Classic Avery, she always went all out for parties, she loved being on theme.

She was losing her game. I could tell by the distinct lack of cups on her side of the table. The pair of large hot pink sunglasses seemingly couldn’t stop slipping down her face, and the gradual shift from one leg to the other was becoming a full-on table lean.

I’d seen and spoken to her plenty of times before that party, but only about notes and study groups for our shared comm course, and that was our freshman year. We had the same circle of friends, and she was part of the sorority my roommate was trying to get into, but we didn’t hang out together. Who knew if she remembered me. I’d remembered her though, if it hadn’t been for her kindness I never would have had the courage to give my final oral presentation. She was the best hype woman.

I wish I could tell you more, but sadly I don’t remember much past this point. The white claws were hitting, and my perception of the room was beginning to shift in ways that made me feel like I could seduce Venus herself. I figured I’d shoot my shot.

I know I introduced myself, needlessly. She’d remembered me after all, and was not put off by my presence, a great start. We hit it off, migrated away from pong, found an empty place to talk, started kissing. I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out for you. Almost 5 years later and everything was going great. We’d graduated, found a place together and jobs we were hopeful about, and I even was about to propose. I know our life together was supposed to be beautiful.

So, that sums up the girlfriend bit pretty well I think. The room though, that’s a little harder for me to explain. I guess I’ll start with some context:

When I was 13, someone broke into my childhood home. It was 4 or 5AM when I woke up to the sound of banging and glass shattering. I was disoriented at first, mainly because I wasn’t sure which floor the sound had come from. Frightened and groggy, I turned over and closed my eyes again. If my dad wasn’t already yelling, everything was probably fine. A few moments later, I heard the creak of my door opening. I rolled myself into the gap between my bed and the wall, using the blanket to cover myself like Dad said. I heard the intruder stumble in a direction away from me, curse to himself, and start fussing around with whatever was on the ground beside him. The distinct click of my portable DVD player opening let me know he was by my closet, on the far side of my room. I trembled, unsure if moving was necessary for survival. It was hard to keep my breath steady.

Suddenly, I heard the maddening rhythmic thump of my father’s footsteps against the carpeted hallway. “Zoe!” I heard him yell, getting louder as he passed through my doorway.

“Keep your head down!”

Everything happened so fast after that.

A shot went off, my world went silent, then began to ring. I cracked, warm tears beginning to stream down my cheeks as my increasingly heavy breaths cooked me underneath the covers. It was almost unbearable. I screamed, nose streaming, eyes squeezed shut. There were no thoughts, I couldn’t move.

Gradually I felt something snake under my sheet. I tensed, then a thick hand gripped mine. I cried out, squeezing hard. Dad. I know I spoke. I know I asked if he was with me, and I know that he was. I couldn’t hear his response over the ringing, though, even as it gradually started fading. Another hand found my face and a weight entered my bed beside me, wrapping me in safety. He tried to keep the blanket over me as he lifted to save me from the grizzly scene, but the blanket fell, and I was assaulted by the yellow light of my ceiling fan. Despite his effort, I saw what he did.

The intruder was basically in two. The shot had taken such a large chunk out of his midsection that the lower half was having trouble hanging on. Had dad shot twice? I smelled spent gunpowder, and something that reminded me of refuse; vomit. Blood, like a Rorschach, blotted my wall, my closet door, and my window. Bits of glass, now crimson against my soiled white carpet, riddled the floor as a cool breeze brought the smell of dew. The mighty sun’s first lines of dawn danced around the night’s leftover viscera. The unfortunate man twitched, once, twice. A finger, a leg.

We called the police after that, obviously. Dad was put away for murder after that, obviously. We had all the doors and windows replaced, obviously. I don’t know. My parents were paranoid. All of that seems excessive now but made me feel much safer as a child.

That’s when I got my room key. It was an old looking thing, not what I’d expected at all, but new didn’t necessarily mean new I guess.

“Lock your door every night,” I remember my mom telling me. “Until Dad gets back, just to be safe.”

I nodded pitifully in agreeance. Again, it seemed a little counter-intuitive for me to lock myself into a confined space when a person could come through my window. We were all on the second floor anyway. However, I quickly discovered that in her paranoia, my mother had a cage installed around the outside of the glass. No one would be getting in, but where would I learn to smoke my dad’s cigarettes now? It was a fair compromise for feeling safe while I slept, which I was more than eager to do as I nestled myself into the new sheets of my bed. It’d been a month of sleeping on the couch with our cat Molly who, for some reason, loved eating my hair. I couldn’t wait to get an actual full, uninterrupted, night of rest.

I remember the time was 10:30PM that first night.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that my alarm wasn’t going off. I panicked. Missing the bus was always a terrible way to start the morning, and I really didn’t want to have to wake up my mom. Rubbing my eyes, I turned to look out the window at the far side of my room only to find that it was still pitch-black outside. My eyes followed their usual track around the room, window, desk, hamper against the wall, closet, door. As they scanned, a lump dropped hard into my stomach. Why wasn’t my alarm going off? My gaze fell to my side table, my alarm clock, to find that it read a quarter past midnight.

Surprised, I remember thinking that my parents must have just gotten a new mattress for my room. I was feeling absolutely refreshed, like I’d gotten to sleep in. It still felt like mine though. Still had the same divot where I usually laid down and the same creaky springs. Maybe I’d just been so exhausted?

I decided then that I wouldn’t let it bother me and proceeded to do anything I could until the alarm went off. Journaling, drawing, reading, studying- anything to make the snail’s pace of time pass, and after what felt like hours it did.

This became the norm. Go to bed at a normal time, wake up a few hours later a new woman, kill time until school, repeat. I started getting better grades on account of all the new study time I had. Eventually, after I determined that my mom couldn’t hear me from her room, I worked in flute practice. First chair was mine after 2 months.

I guess I should’ve thought it was weird sooner, but the free time I’d accumulated was too good to question as a teen. My friends and I were closer than ever. I wanted for nothing; it was like everything I’d always wished for was coming true. Too bad you are still subject to God’s will even when you forget He exists.

After a full day of schooling, gossiping with friends, catching up with mom, calling dad, and watching my mom and I’s favorite soap with a slice of pizza, I was eager to get my perfect rest. It’d become so normal for me to lie down and let sleep whisk me away briefly that I almost forgot to change before crawling under the sheets. As I drifted off, concerned with tomorrow’s agenda, I couldn’t have possibly imagined the nightmare that waited.

It comes up, the memory of it, from time to time. I was paralyzed in my bed. It was new to me, probably the first time it’d actually ever happened. Eyes darting around my field of view, I could just barely make out the shapes of my closet and bedroom doors. My arms get tired when I think of how hard I pushed, trying to get myself to move at all.

Then, the dread. I don’t really know if that’s what it was, but I don’t know what else I’d describe it as. Oppressive knowledge? Something was in the room with me. Where I couldn’t tell yet, but it was there.

 My chest beat as my breathing labored. I strained, trying to get my eyes to will the rest of my head to move. Nothing worked. My nose began to sting, eyes becoming cloudy. Blinking quickly, I tried to curse, but words failed me. The room was glossy and blurry and hazy and dark, and all I could do was blink. In this panic, I must’ve not noticed it happen, I caught a glimpse of the open closet door.

You ever forget if you turned the oven off after laying down or leaving the house? Ever have that sinking feeling of both stomach and faith as you question reality and your own memory?

I shut it off. Am I sure? I must’ve- why wouldn’t I?

My stomach hit Challenger Deep, and I wished more than anything that I could melt through the sheets surrounding me.

That’s when the first human arm emerged from my closet door, and I was finally able to scream. Everything went black, and I was awake. Bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, heaving breaths but no air, vision swimming as my head trained in the direction of the wretched thing. I shook, my mind conjuring monsters out of the distorted darkness my delirium and fear had created.

Now, I could’ve slept-walked, but that would’ve been the first time. I swear on my life that that door was closed when I laid down. Now, in the dim light of the moon, I could finally make out the grooves of the door. It lay slightly ajar. The darkness beyond was vast; infinite. I was staring into eternity, and something was staring back, I knew it. Then, to my horror, the door moved. In a flurry of pillows and sheets, I practically threw myself through the door and into my mother’s room.

That was the last night I spent in there.

I started staying on a mattress in my dad’s office and told my mom I was really missing him that badly. Well, I ‘missed him that bad’ until the end of high school. I started getting up to my alarm again, instead of before, and once again began having barely enough time to throw my things together before the bus. On top of that, I’d lost my extra study-time. My grades fell, but I was still above average. Good enough for mom and dad still, but noticeably different to my peers. I went to more extra help sessions, saw everyone less. It was like nothing had changed, but I knew, and I can’t forget.

Anyway, flash forward to my senior year of high school. I’m 17, committed to a school for a degree in sociology. Finals were coming up and I was starting to fall behind. I’d gotten a part-time job to help mom with bills so we could put more to saving for when dad got back, but it was starting to eat up a considerable amount of my prep. Worried I’d get left behind, I did the most reasonable thing I could think of:

I packed my schoolbag full of whatever textbooks I could cram in, a few white monsters, and prayed that the thing in my closet was just in my head. Standing before the door, my hand trembled over the knob. Dread nestled into my stomach, threatening to show me the hamburger helper I’d eaten with mom earlier.

I had to ask myself then: What was I really afraid of? A monster from a dream I had?

You know how people yell at characters in horror movies for making stupid decisions? Do that here, I deserved it.

My hand closed around the knob, and I turned. Everything inside was the same as I’d left it the night of the incident. Sheets strewn about the floor, mattress covers in disarray. They looked inviting for a moment. Then I noticed the smell, and the room again became a Saw trap.

Sweet rot filled my nose; my mouth; I could taste it. It trickled down the back of my throat and made me sick. I recognized it though. The intruder from my youth had left a similar smell after we found his blood had soaked so deep into my carpets and floor that we had to replace the entire thing. Some professional cleaners had to come just to make the room livable again. But, it wasn’t as strong, where was it coming from now?

I gave the room a glance over, leaning my head forward to give my nose the most range without moving further in. The smell waned in the direction of my bed, but you’ll never guess where it was stronger…

My closet door stood as a great obelisk stands against the desert sand, foreboding, unknowable. I approached slowly, every step closer begging me to take 3 more back. The smell was so thick as I reached my hand out to pull the door back that I was forced to cover my nose with the other.

The thing that was in there had certainly been alive at some point. A small bird sat in two bloody pieces alongside my sneakers. I lurched, swallowing bile as that hamburger helper was practically begging to come back up. Had Molly brought it in while I was in the bathroom or something? No. My bedroom door had been locked the morning after my nightmare. My mom got some things for me, but afterwards it was completely sealed off.

I put together a story in my mind that sounded plausible. My mom unlocked the door to get something else, yeah, and Molly ran in with the bird. She dropped the bird in there, tore it up, but had to leave before she could chow down. I hadn’t plugged every hole, but I was wasting time, and if I was going to study I needed to move past my fear.

A sound threw my entire night into the garbage: the bird began to chirp. The wing attached to one half began to flutter as the other detached one twitched, trying to copy the movement. What followed was as such:

I screamed, fell back onto my ass, and watched, horrified, as the bird flailed this way and that, trying to gain a footing and take off. Its bottom half twitched as the feet attempted to get itself standing upright again.

I was disgusted, yeah, absolutely mortified. I mean, who wouldn’t be, but I wasn’t afraid. Something about the bird gave me pause. It didn’t seem to be in any pain. A few times, the bird would stop moving, but if I so much as breathed too loud it would attempt flight again. It was just reacting to my presence as if it were outside, afraid. My mind was blown- that’s not possible.

Instead of studying for my stats final, I read through my human biology book. Page by page, cover to cover, I needed to find an answer. There was nothing in there for me, though.

Not long after I moved the bird to a small box with a towel and some absorbent pads, keen on taking it to the closest emergency vet to see if there really was anything they could do for it. It chirped wildly as I moved, however, as soon as I crossed the threshold into the rest of my home, there was silence. No more chirping, no more thrums of wingbeats, no more hard breaths. It had just died, not even a foot out of the room.

I knew then, somehow, that something inside the room had done it. I understood.

I’ve peeked in there a few more times but haven’t stepped foot inside and especially haven’t slept there. I know. If I bring Avery she will come back. I feel it. That’s why I decided to post this. I feel, in my heart, like I’m onto something here. All I need to do is get her body and get inside that room.

Thoughts on the plan?

PART II

Sorry for the radio silence these past weeks. Things have been rough, really rough. I’m going to try and outline everything for you- I know this doesn’t look the same as the last one. Bear with me though, please, the situation has evolved. I don’t know what to do.

I hope this gives enough context. I need everyone to be caught up. There is a man at my door, and he keeps trying to get me to let him inside. He started coming the first night. He was here last night too- you’ll see. Tonight: he asked for Avery. I can’t sleep. I can’t call the police. I’m tapped into something way bigger than myself here.

Below is where this post started: Friday.

I’ll get back with more in the next few days. I just heard something at the door.

Avery’s service was on Sunday. It rained through the whole thing. I tried my best to look good for her, but my foundation was streaked with tears, and the eyeliner had morphed into an impromptu smokey eye long before the preacher had finished addressing the living. The rain completely ruined my hair, and I hadn’t thought of bringing an umbrella. By the time they began lowering her down I was sopping wet.

Everything was miserable and grey. She would’ve hated sitting through it.

Our congregation was pathetic- she deserved so much more. Almost nobody came to watch her be laid to rest, though I’d told everyone we knew. The graduate students and people who were states away I could excuse, but even her parents didn’t show. I’d figured they wouldn’t, but I thought maybe they’d reconcile their differences and at least try and pretend to care for the sake of her memory. No. They were the same as they’d always been. Cold and cruel. She hadn’t followed their perfect roadmap through life, and they’d see that she suffered to the end for it.

I decided it would be better for everyone to keep her close to me, so I chose a plot about a 15-minute drive from my mom’s place. We were in a pretty quiet, barely suburban part of PA, no one would disturb her body out there.

When it came time to say our final goodbyes, I threw as much earth as I could stand. As our few attendees took their turns the wind carried the deep rumble of the sky cracking. Fearing for the safety of those who drove, the pastor decided to close out early. He explained that the cemetery crew would come after the rain and fill the lot, then it was over. The moment had simply passed us by. We said our goodbyes, and it was done.

As everyone left the lot, one of Avery’s sorority friends came up to me. She put a hand on my shoulder and smiled.

“Take care of yourself Zoe. The last thing Avery would want is for you to stop going. Reach out if you need anything, okay?”

I nodded, trying to be respectful, but I didn’t care. Everyone was about to move on with their lives. It was just another rainy day. I don’t even know if I kept her number.

Since then, I’ve been stuck. The days following were initially filled with the monumental and monotonous tasks of sorting through bills, going through her things, and making plans for what she’d left me with. I am a cog in the grief machine. My only purpose at this point is to try and gather the pieces I’ve become.

Since I took some leave for bereavement I was spending a lot of time in our apartment, alone. It was driving me insane. The smell of her perfume was stained into the couch cushions, the imprint of her body in the mattress next to me a constant reminder of her absence. I’d never wake up to her breath on my back again. Eventually, it made me sick to sit at our tiny kitchen table. I couldn’t help but remember all the time we spent together planning our future. Budgets were made here, we talked about adoption, so many tinned fish board date nights right in these chairs.

Every room conjured the ghost of her, each phantom driving a stake through my chest. At night, I started dreaming about the hospital room. The beeping of monitors I didn’t know how to read, the dial tone that cued a swarm of nurses to start compressions. They dragged me away at the same time every night, there was nothing I could do to protect Avery. I couldn’t take it. On Sunday I decided to go back home. I still have the place, but I needed to start thinking straight. I’d decided I was going to do it. I can’t live without her. I figured, after I get her body into that room, I’d sleep on the couch.

I checked my first post constantly for the first few days, hoping someone might say something to bring me back to sanity. I felt that the thought was supposed to be wrong, you know? Like owning a porno mag, I had to keep this part of my private life a complete secret from all eyes. I needed to reevaluate my thought processes.

That’s when the doubt hit me: Wasn’t Avery supposed to be resting? I’ve heard and seen so many people say, ‘She’s in a better place now’ since she died. But where was that? How could it be so far from me?

No; she isn’t resting. She couldn’t be. Not without me and our bed, together like we’d been before.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I thought anyone but myself could make such an important decision, or why I doubted the validity of my feelings for so long. What am I doing trying to let people on the internet make choices for my life? I need her. How could anyone understand that? Why would you reading even care? By the end of the week, I couldn’t take it anymore, and Friday night I set my rescue mission into motion. I drove out to her cemetery.

Out by my mom, there’s never really a need to worry about cameras or nightguards- the place we’d decided to bury her was tucked away on an untended lot. Nobody out here cared about grave robbing- there was nothing to rob.

From the car I drew my weapon, my shovel, and let it rest against my shoulder as I walked through the few rows of headstones. Wet bouquets sat by a handful; candles that I imagine were once lit now were full of stagnant rainwater, brimming with the tiny eggs of insects. I’d been here every day since the service. I knew the path like I’d known Avery’s McDonald’s order. To the step, to the breath, I traced my way back.

All at once I found myself staring back down at the words:

In Loving Memory of

AVERY BERNARD

January 1992 – May 2022

I couldn’t afford anything nice on my own, and her family sure didn’t cover any of the expenses. It doesn’t matter though, because soon she’s going to be back. My mind played back the snippets of our lives I loved most as I got to work. I was cooking her breakfast, hearing her laugh from the table behind me. I was running my fingers through her soft auburn hair while she napped on my lap out on the couch. These thoughts propelled my arms to heave shovel-full after shovel-full of damp soil into the night air.

Through the mindless motions of scooping and dumping, I eventually hit something hard. I had to lean against the side of my less-than-professional hole to catch whatever hot breaths I could manage. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead as I helplessly wiped with dirty sleeves. The air made it stick to my skin rather than relieve me, and I could feel streaks of wet earth against my face.

I was both disgusted with myself and eager as I pried the lid off her casket. She looked almost the exact same as she had the day we put her down there. Dark, tired looking eyes and sunken cheeks, she looked like a sick child getting much needed rest. That’s basically what it was anyway, and she’ll be waking up soon I’m sure.

I wrapped her body in a few towels and blankets before spending the next half hour inching her out of the hole. It took another hour and a half to get the grave filled again. It wasn’t perfect by the time I was done, but I was in a hurry, and I knew no one was going to notice.

Laying her flat in the back seat of my car, I took the time to buckle her in and lay a blanket over her. I wasn’t worried about being pulled over, no; more that I’d spend all my time looking at her in the rear view rather than at the road. I know myself. It was thanks to this, I believe, that the drive back was uneventful. I definitely went too fast and wasn’t being as careful as I should. You all understand though, I’m going to get her back. Everything seemed brighter under the light of the moon, but I know it was just my imagination.

That brings us to now. Now, I’m sitting here trying to gather myself. Mom left right after the funeral for some cruise, and I’ve got the house completely to myself. Avery’s in there now. I just got her all tucked in and squared away, left some water on the bedside table, Acetaminophen, Ibuprofen, Aleve D, Pepto- whatever mom had in the cupboard.

After not being in there for so long, it was almost refreshing to take a step back into my room. I am enamored by the idea of seeing my lover again. I probably shouldn’t admit it on the internet, but I sat and stared at her for a long time. She was puffy, and the makeup they’d put on at the funeral home was becoming too warm for her new tone. The smell wafting around the room was pungent, fishy and sickly sweet. All of that didn’t matter though. She’s really here, and all I have to do was wait. I would’ve stayed all night, but I figured she’ll be really disoriented when she comes to- and I should give her space.

From here, I’m going to change the format of this a bit. Sorry everyone. It’s a bit of a change in pace, but I think it’ll make more sense as time goes on. I need to start dedicating more attention to Avery and getting things situated for her here at least until my mom gets back. I still don’t know how I’m going to explain any of this to her. She’s always been supportive of my choices, but this is different than coming out.

I’m sure this won’t be a smooth process, but I’m extremely hopeful. I’ll leave the first log in this post and keep it up from there. Might miss a day, but don’t kill me. I’m about to bring back the dead.

Avery, when you’re back, I’ll show you this stupid thread, and we’ll laugh about how nuts of an idea this was.

Saturday

It’s 2:45 in the morning, just wanted to note that someone either knocked on the door, or Molly knocked something over. Yeah, she’s still alive. Geriatric, but alive.

I think I heard two knocks. They echoed through the house and made me nearly jump out of my skin.

Before I left my room I grabbed my phone from the bedside and made my way to the front as quietly as I could. Before I even got in sight of the door itself I was able to tell that there was nobody there. The porch light still shone an unbroken strip of light all the way to the kitchen wall. I untensed, and once again confirmed no one was at the door once I stepped into the glow. The hall was empty, door sat closed. I could see the porch was deserted through the decorative glass, nobody outside.

That would’ve made me feel better had I not found Molly asleep in her cat tree. I’ll look outside in the morning, maybe it was nothing.

Ok, it’s almost midnight now, and I’m just getting around to writing anything down. I’m sorry, this is already off to a bad start, huh? Whatever. I don’t normally do journaling, and I also didn’t think I’d be out of the house most of the day.

On account of the knocking, and the fact that my girlfriend was a few doors from me, I had a hard time getting any sleep at all last night. Of course I tried, but my mind was racing. Memories of her and I, thoughts of what to do next, anxiety and anticipation. I almost expected her to open the door at some point and walk in herself. I imagined her tucking in right next to me, like things used to be. This was wishful thinking obviously, and she didn’t come in. All things considered, I’m surprised I could lay still at all.

After hours of staring at the ceiling and scrolling through my socials, I decided my day would start at 9am. That sounded normal. I checked the mail, made some coffee, and gave Molly her medication. Grief aside, it took a lot of willpower to avoid that room. I want so desperately to feel her weight against me again.

I’m not sure how long I’m supposed to leave her body in there before she’s better, but I figured maybe today I’d just give her some space. Coming back from the dead is probably really dramatic, so I’m not expecting anything nuts.

Deciding to get as much done as possible, I made it my mission to get through some finance stuff. I had to call the dealership Avery had been leasing through, her student loans needed to get sorted. We weren’t married yet, but she’d given me power of attorney before everything got too bad. I managed to do it somehow, not without some choice words and empty threats. This world is so cruel to the young. When she gets back, maybe we can change her identity or something and put this entire thing behind us.

Anyway, it ended up taking a lot out of me. I decided to get out of the house for a while and just do whatever errands I could make up until the feelings went away. By the time I got back tonight I’d gone to the bank to sort out her accounts, got gas, went to get some things from our storage locker, and spent almost two hours at the 24-hour grocer trying to decide what Avery might want whenever she wakes up.

I’m exhausted, just got done putting everything away, and still can’t get over the urge to prop the door open. I’ll try and sleep, and definitely update sooner tomorrow, maybe even after I take a peek in the morning.

Sunday

It’s 2AM, and I just went to check the front door. Someone started knocking again, and they won’t stop.

I’m sitting inside of my bathroom writing this right now. I can’t get a good look at who’s at the door. He must be wearing all black too, because he covers the entire doorway. I saw briefly tonight a huge shadow dart back from behind the glass. I only knew he was there by his voice. I keep hearing him calling for whoever is inside to let him in, but I have no idea who this could possibly be. I’m alone out here other than Molly, and if I call the police they’ll find Avery.

He came back. I’m in the bathroom again. Door locked. Knocking is harder. I can hear the doorknob, it’s half past.

3 now. It’s over. He stopped.

As you can imagine I didn’t sleep at all. I am exhausted. I’ve spent all day trying to figure out who was at the door. I just bought a doorbell camera and I’m going to install it as soon as it gets here. I paid extra to get it for tomorrow night.

Either way, I also went to check on Avery. Around 9, like yesterday, I got up and headed over to my room. Of course, this isn’t going well either. Once I hit the light switch, I could see the extent of the damage. She was even more puffy than Friday, and the smell in there is unbearable. I had to spend time blotting her face and taking off the makeup because some decomp fluids had begun dripping from her eyes and nose. My hands were shaking as I held my breath over her. She’s so fragile right now, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I hurt her. The idea that nothing’s happening is really beginning to scare me. Was the bird just a coincidence? Were all of my other experiments for nothing? Have I made a mistake?

Maybe I did, but I can wait another day. I think I’ll sleep in here tonight. Not on the bed, I love Avery, but I do not want that smell on me. She’s going to need a really long shower when she gets up, thankfully I have all of her soaps and hair products still. I couldn’t get rid of them even though I haven’t done my own hair in weeks.

I made some chicken parm for dinner, one of Avery’s favorites. I’m thinking that when she’s awake, she’ll probably be hungry too. Why not have something already on hand? She’s a huge foodie, I’ll bet wherever she is, they don’t have parm like this. Spirits or ghosts or whatever she is right now probably don’t need to eat anyway.

The day is starting to drag, but I’m going to start watching Starship Troopers and make sure all the doors are locked. I’m keeping my phone on me.

I’m just writing this down to note that I’ve moved back into my room. It’s almost 10, and I’m done. I need to sleep, and I know I won’t hear the banging from here. There were some extra blankets by all the towels, so I set myself up by the door. God forbid there is anything in here, I am getting out as quickly as possible. The fan is on, and it’s helping a little bit with the smell. What can you do, I guess. Will update if anything happens.

Another dream. I can’t stay in there again. I’m beside myself.

This is the second time I’ve ever experienced paralysis. It was exactly like the first time. I’m in bed, finding myself unable to move anything but my eyes. I traced my path, a forced habit from an ancient memory. Window, desk, hamper, closet, door, check. Again: window, desk, hamper, closet, door, check.

A disgusting click sounded to the left. My closet door. It was my closet door. I strained. It was just like the first time. I still can’t believe it. This time though, the creature wasted no time. It was above me in an instant, but not before I heard the thing tear through my door and drag itself to me. It sounded like someone quickly zipping a jacket, and I could almost feel the burn against my own skin. I’ve never had a dream so vivid.

I’m going to describe exactly what I saw. I don’t care if it was a dream, if there is any universe where this thing exists, I don’t want to exist with it.

Now dominating my vision was an amalgamation of human flesh. As it towered above me, it undulated. If I’d been able to vomit, I’m sure I would have as I saw human limbs; arms and legs, twitching about its amorphous form. Eyes, so many eyes, all on me. Tears began to fall. I couldn’t whimper or cry out, but the tears were certainly coming. A larger hand then spanned across my view, landing against the wall as it drew itself in closer to my face.

There was nothing I could do. I was completely at this thing’s will.

I don’t know how long the two of us stared at one another, but for the entire time I felt as if I were being interrogated. Feelings I didn’t have a reason for began overcoming my fear. I was angry, no, absolutely elated- wrong again, I was completely apathetic. I was remembering my mother, my father, Avery, everyone who’d ever been apart of my life. A lifetime replayed in my mind, but I don’t recall if it was mine or someone else’s. I cycled through emotions until things began to blur together and I couldn’t discern them anymore.

Then, it was over, and the creature withdrew slowly, eyes never leaving mine. It backed itself all the way to the closet, scraping itself across my carpet with those long drags. If I had the ability to, I would’ve cringed.

Like that, it was over, I woke up on the floor. That’s when I grabbed my book to write this. I needed to record it, though I’m sure I won’t forget anytime soon. Just looked at the closet. The door is wide open, and Avery's body was strewn across the floor in my direction. I’ll sleep in mom’s room.

PART III

Tuesday

I think this might be the last time you’ll hear from me. I don’t know when this will get out. I can’t make calls in here anymore. I got in here on Tuesday night. Don’t ask, I don’t know which one. I don’t know what day it is now. I don’t know if there’s any way for me to even tell anymore. My phone says 3:15 and the alarm clock was stuck at 5:55 last I saw it.

I’m underneath the bed right now, trying to type this as quietly as possible. She can’t hear very well, I think because of the coat hanger. I’ll get to that. There’s no light coming in through the window anymore. A little while ago I lost sight of the moon, and I just noticed the light from the house across the street is gone. It’s been Tuesday for a really long time, I think.

Oh yeah, I’m in my room again. I know I’d said I was going into my mom’s room, but things changed.

Something came inside last night. The man from my last log- or I thought it was a man at first, but now I have no idea. It isn’t human, I don’t know what it is.

A few hours ago, I was laying in my mom’s bed, waiting for the banging to begin. 2AM hit though, and there was nothing. It was really nice for a second actually, because I was eager to believe that the whole thing was over, but as the silence lingered I started getting increasingly nervous. It was what I wanted, the noise to stop; to get some sleep, but, I don’t know, I had a bad feeling.

I don’t really know why I thought the next logical thing to do was check downstairs. Not being able to sleep has put me all out of whack. But, also, after so many nights of the same thing I’d reached my limit. I figured, if I couldn’t call the police, I would really need to deal with this trespasser on my own. So, there I was, acting all tough, thinking I wasn’t fucking around anymore. I was going to figure out what this asshole was doing. He’d been doing the same thing for days, why stop? The silence was wrong, everything about my life had become so wrong. I just wanted all this to end.

Now I don’t know if I’m making it out of this room.

With one sock on I took my time going down the hall. The only weapon I really had was my phone, so I was clutching it as I made my way down.

I’d found it easier to retreat into the thought that the man I was expecting out there was just waiting for me to give him a sign of life before he began his nightly tirade. I would run back to my mom’s room, throw the covers over myself and hide away until all these childish monsters left me alone and I could maybe get some rest. Maybe even Avery would wake up in my room and come to my rescue, holding me tight and guiding me back to normalcy. I wish.

Instead, as soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs, what sounded like dozens of rapid, heavy footsteps made their way to my front door. I jumped, taking a few steps back up the staircase, expecting something more, but nothing ever came. Behind the warped glass, the world outside was completely dark. Looking above me to the curtained window at the landing, there was still the glow of the streetlamps.

With the grim realization falling over me, I gripped the railing and took a deep breath. Steadying myself, I took the few steps again, resigned to think I had any power in the situation.

“Who are you?” I called. “Why are you at my-“

The first knock interrupted me and caused my mind to go blank. It came from the back door this time. My head snapped towards the source of the sound, and at the same time another knock sounded from the front. It’d started, I knew. I ran over to the light switch and flicked on everything I could. Light bathed the entryway, and I knew the porch would now be lit up. I was going to catch these people.

What I was met with when I turned back will probably stay with me forever. I don’t know what to believe in anymore. If there is something watching over us, surely they didn’t mean for this to exist on the same Earth as us.

Finally, I could see the thing blocking my front door. Not entirely, but I didn’t need to try too hard. I’d seen it a few times before. I should’ve known all of this shit was connected.

A leg, balled fists, flesh, and the faint imprint of two human faces, now defined by the harsh light of my porch, sat completely flush with the decorative glass. Through the distortion I could make out a few sclera. Too many eyes were looking in, waiting for my next move. I couldn’t tell you how, but I knew they were all looking at me.

I was frozen to the spot, helpless in the face of a literal waking nightmare.

Over the next few moments, a symphony of ginger knocks sounded from all around the house, at first like pitters of raindrops against a roof. Some overlapped, some were closer than others, but all were becoming increasingly intense. Knocking became hitting, hitting became slams. Everything crescendoed until, all at once, the sound of a thousand fists banging against every wall of my childhood home began raining down on me.

Throwing my hands over my ears, I took off up the stairs. From behind, through the impacts, I could hear the sound of my front door splintering. Before I could react, the sound of the hinges giving way sounded out and the wood buckled in. The sound of the impact caused me to flinch, and I tripped at the top step, hitting my knee hard against the hardwood floor. Tears stung my eyes immediately, pain then numbness radiating in patterns through my bone. I cried out, but all I heard in response was the sickening slap of large, wet hands and pulling, the ripping of flesh as the thing tried prying itself through the front door.

I had no time to react. My room was the closest, just ahead. I had the key. I could lock the door. That thing was outside, not in my room anymore, it wouldn’t hear me in there. Further: Avery was in there alone, and I had to make sure she’d be okay. What if she woke up in the middle of all this? It would end soon. I was being tested, I just had to get over this hurdle. This is all my heart told me as I threw the door open and thrust myself inside. There wasn’t time to think about it more. Maybe I should’ve considered that I was doing exactly what it wanted though. Whatever, hindsight is 20/20 or something.

I fumbled with the key for a moment before jamming it into the lock and turning until I heard a click. As soon as I did, I crumbled, hands on my head, rocking on the floor.

“What the fuck,” a heave, “what the fuck,” a gasp “what the fuck…”

My mind was numb. I still wasn’t safe and now I needed to figure out my next move, but what do you even do. There were no guidebooks, no forum to consult. I mean, what do you say when you’re alone during an eldritch home invasion? On top of that, in a room with your dead girlfriend. What could the human mind even begin to conjure that would help in this situation? Every consequence of this is going to fall on me.

For a few breaths nothing else happened, but just as quickly I began to hear something else. A single faint impact, over and over again. It almost sounded wet. A hand immediately flung itself over my mouth. Drawing my attention to the source, I saw my closet door sitting ajar. It was like someone had thrown it open in a hurry and didn’t close it all the way back up. It was even sitting slightly off the track. Clothes and hangers were strewn about the floor in front of the entrance. Someone had really wanted to get in- or out.

My stomach dropped, and I began to get to my feet. As soon as I was able, I turned my attention to the bed. In the light of the moon, I was not surprised to find that it was completely empty. The linen was stained with puss and decomp fluids in the outline of her body. Tears finally fell. My immediate thought was that the thing downstairs had gotten to her already and I was too late, but, as I sniffled, and began wiping at my face, a new sound greeted me.

“Who’s there…?” Her voice came out in gargles and wheezes. It was strained, deeper than I remembered, but it was hers. The thudding stopped. My Avery.

“Help me…”

“I’m here! I’m right here… you have to be quiet for a sec okay? Someone’s in the house- I’ll come to you.”

“Help… please.”

Guilt panged in my heart. I wasn’t trying to scare her, but there was a reason to be scared, I couldn’t shield her from that truth. In the moment I was grateful though, not needing to move her myself would make it a lot easier to hide us both. I could talk her down afterwards.

As I approached the door quietly I had to start breathing into my sleeve to keep myself from vomiting. Her smell had mixed with something else. It was really similar, like something dead but less, if that makes sense. It mixed with ammonia as I got closer, making my head spin. Before I could get a proper look at what was inside, I put my hand on the light switch. Something inside clicked, then another wet thud sounded, causing me to hesitate a moment.

“Avery?”

She didn’t answer, so I hit the light.

Whatever God there is, He is cruel, and He knows no mercy.

There she was, on her knees before the mutilated corpse of Molly, who had a few flies swarming her. My jaw dropped, tears welling up in my eyes. In her left hand she was gripping a detached paw, using it to dig deep lines into her opposite arm. Everything had gone wrong.

Imagine going to a street fair; festival; carnival; and you get a caricature done. You love the novelty of looking at yourself through the funhouse mirror. Huge lips, airline strip forehead, massive gap in your teeth. You know these features aren’t real, just exaggerations. This, what Avery became, was.

The tumors that had put her in the ground had grown both in number and in size, stretching her skin so thin in some places I could see her pulse as she twitched. Her right arm was massive, swollen from the hand all the way to her shoulder. I couldn’t see her face, but from behind it was difficult to have any hope that she’d be okay. The bottom half of her body was mostly fine, save for the fact that she’d torn through her clothes and had scratches all over. Molly must’ve been so scared.

Her neck was thicker- almost as thick as her shoulders had become wide, and tapered in by her face, which sat like an egg in a lumpy pillow. Her hair was stringy, some strands stuck in the new folds of her diseased skin. Some black liquid stained a trail from her left ear, I think it might’ve been dried blood. A wire coat hanger laid twisted and bloody on the ground beside her. Had she done that to herself? I turned my head quickly, not wanting to imagine what she’d been through, but I know she knew I was there now.

“Zoe… Zoe…”

I closed the light, turning the rest of my body as tears began to fall again.

“It really… hurts.”

Her body jerked back and forth a few times as her altered form took a shambling step out of the closet, causing me to fall back onto the carpet. I scooted back, vision becoming blurry as I couldn’t spare a moment to wipe my eyes.

Finally, I caught a glimpse of the face of the woman I’d loved. I don’t know where the voice had been coming from. She looked like a water balloon about to burst. The skin around her mouth was pulled back in a gummy, toothy half open grin, probably because she couldn’t close her jaw.

“I know… I know Aves,” I cooed, trying to soothe us both as I sniffled and shook. My phone had bounced underneath the bed, but my attention was locked on Avery. “But you’re gonna be okay! Just stay quiet for me-”

She lunged toward the sound of my voice and fell upon me in an instant. She screamed, hands beating down on my chest. At first, she knocked the wind out of me, which was more surprising than frightening. She’d never hit me before. Whatever had come back, it wasn’t her now.

With some effort, I was able to get my hands on hers before she could get another good blow. She’d never been stronger than me, but at that moment I was struggling to keep her from overpowering me completely. She thrashed back and forth, throwing me down against the ground lightly a few times before I was able to throw her off balance and wiggle out of reach.

I rolled out of the way as quickly as I could, scrambling underneath the bed and covering my mouth to avoid her hearing my labored breaths.

“Help me!” She cried, now clawing at her face with her broken nails and convulsing on the floor.

She screamed like that for a while and has fits where she will just scream herself hoarse. She still twitches and cries out from time to time too, but I think as long as I don’t make any more sound I’ll be good. That said, like I mentioned earlier, there’s no light coming in from outside anymore, and it’s felt like days have gone by. Maybe that thing is blocking the light somehow?

I hate to be so disgusting online, but between myself, the piss and shit at the other end of the bed, Molly’s corpse, and Avery, I don’t know what smells the worst.

I think, chances are if I leave the room it’ll be daytime, and I can just lock myself in some other room. I’ll call the cops, call my mom, explain everything and just reap those consequences. Jail or psychiatric help would be way better than this. Either way, I think I’m gonna go for it.

Wish me luck.