And so here we are, down to the meat of this project: the first of the entries that I shall be trying to make before Aqualung decides that the knowledge stored in my files is not quite enough to satisfy him one night, or until that accursed Thaddeus comes knocking. Or one of the handful of others on my list of those most likely to directly effect my death.
Whichever of them it might be, I do not expect to be capable of mounting any kind of significant resistance. I do plan on making the attempt, but I do not expect much to come of it. If it is Aqualung or one of its ilk, the shotgun which I have prepared will not be of much use. If it is Thaddeus or one of the other traitors that the community appears to have designated “Proxies”, I still do not expect the shotgun to be of much use. Even if it is technically capable of harming them, my vision is poor, I am old, and I have never fired a weapon of any kind in my life.
Still, I will make the attempt. If nothing else, I will find great satisfaction in at least getting to pull the trigger once as a final act of spite against them.
The account contained in the following document explains why. The original is a hand-written journal, taken from the home of one Donald Sullivan in Louisville, Kentucky. Let me preface the document with another reminder that these accounts are incomplete. While I can, in most cases, identify which records are missing pieces, there are some that cannot be proven to be complete or incomplete. Still, this is one of those records that I consider most important, and so I shall upload it as it is now and hope that everything that I originally considered so important is still there.
DOCUMENT EAT-001: SULLIVAN, DONALD
[This document was originally a handwritten journal. The pertinent entries have been included here; the rest of them are idle musings from a teenage boy. However, between this entry and the previous one there is a several-page gap wherein nothing has been written.]
Sarah woke up today. Mom and Dad were happier than I think I’ve ever seen them.
The doctors were talking about how it’s a miracle and how it’s a million-to-one chance that she would ever come out of the coma. Everybody was pretty much delirious with how happy they were and all I can think of is that Sarah hasn’t said a word since she opened her eyes.
Yeah, I was right. Brain damage. Mom and Dad are still trying to act like they’re happy she woke up, but I can see it. They wanted Sarah back, not some vegetable. I heard Mom crying last night.
The doctors said she might be able to re-learn stuff. She still moves now, and everything. She blinks. When I wave at her, she waves back. But she doesn’t talk, and the doctors say there’s pretty much no brain activity there. She’s just watching, or something.
Mom and Dad are crying again. It’s worse this time because it’s kind of my fault, even though I didn’t mean to. They made me read to her. They said I should spend time with my sister. But that’s not Sarah in that room. Sarah’s dead. I don’t know who that is.
Sarah liked peanut butter and ham sandwiches. The girl in that hospital room doesn’t know what peanut butter is. She doesn’t even know what The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is. That was her favorite book, and she didn’t even react when I started to read it to her. She just sat there and stared at me.
I left after the first two chapters. Then Mom and Dad came in and freaked out, because she was reciting it to herself. They thought she had started to remember. They didn’t know I was reading it to her. And when I told them the looks on their faces were like I had just killed Sarah all over again.
Sarah has learned to walk again. She still isn’t talking. Not really. She’s just repeating things to herself. Song lyrics. TV show quotes. Conversations she overhears. The doctors say it’s a good sign. She’s trying to re-learn everything she lost, or something like that.
Maybe. I don’t know. She was down there for a long time. I don’t think it’s so much that she’s learning as it’s like shouting into an empty cave.
And I don’t care what they say it is anyway. It’s creepy. And she doesn’t look right when she stares at me. It’s like her eyes are dead but the rest of her isn’t, or something.
She’s empty now. Sarah never came back up.
I want my little sister back.
Sarah moved back home today. She still isn’t talking. She listens. Sometimes she still does that thing where she’ll mimic me. But she walks now, and she can go to the bathroom and clean herself and stuff like that. Mom and Dad are excited. They’re throwing a party.
I don’t know why. It’s still not Sarah.
I went out in the backyard while Mom and Dad were gone today. I buried Cuddly out on the other side of the creek, behind the bushes. The new girl just stared at me while I took him from her bed. Sarah would have stopped me. Cuddly was her favorite bear.
Bye, Sarah. I love you.
It would have been Sarah’s birthday yesterday. Mom and Dad wanted me to get the new girl a present. I don’t know why. It wasn’t her birthday. I don’t know why they keep trying to act like Sarah ever came up. Sarah drowned. She fell in the river and went under and the oxygen to her brain got cut off until parts of it died an- [illegible, scratched-out writing and tear stains] -ouldn’t help her she screamed for me to pull her out
I’m sorry Sarah
Dad’s gone on a business trip for the weekend. Mom wants me to go out with my friends to the movies. I don’t want to. There’s nothing I want to see.
Mom is making me watch a movie together with her and the new girl. I don’t want to watch a movie with them, either. The new girl always looks at me funny. She creeps me out. I told Mom that, but she just says I shouldn’t judge my sister.
I almost said she’s not my sister, but I didn’t want her to cry again.
The new girl’s outside the door she put something in Mom’s drink I don’t know what it was but Mom fell down and then she got up again and she’s like the new girl was when she woke up in the hospital and she tried to put the same thing in my drink
Mom tried to make me like her so I hit her but then the new girl said something, actually said something like a real person she said it was only water Michael why are you so afraid and she’s still talking I’ve got the door locked but there’s no phone in here and I can’t call for help
Mom tried to come in through the window I hit her again with a lamp this time I’m sorry Mom I love you
I think Mom’s dead now only she’s dead like Sarah she’s not really dead just empty now
Dad, if you find this journal, I love you.
The new girl is still talking. I haven’t seen the thing wearing Mom’s skin since I hit it with the lamp and it fell out of the window. I pushed your bookshelf in front of it to keep it out.
I haven’t said anything to the new girl. It keeps talking about how I have to choose to “eat the silence or embrace the archangel”. I don’t know what that means, but as long as it’s talking it’s not trying to break down the door so I don’t care.
There's water seeping under the door. I don't know where it's coming from. I don't trust the water any more, though. I'm not going to touch it if I can help it. Please don't drink anything from the house. Or the river Sarah drowned in.
I’ve got your gun out of your bedside table. I’m going to try and run for it. I’m going to shoot them if I can. They’re not Mom and Sarah any more. I don’t think I’ll make it, but if I do, I’ll call you as soon as I can.
I love you.
END OF DOCUMENT
This journal was recovered from underneath the mattress in the master bedroom of Donald Sullivan’s residence. His wife was found dead in the sitting room, shot once through the head and lying next to a discarded pistol bearing Michael Sullivan’s fingerprints. The pistol had been fired three times. Neither his son’s nor his daughter’s body were ever found. Nor were the other two bullets.