and thief. I lift up a mighty shield against you and point a knife at your neck. You will relent, you will fall, and we will find Carly and bring her back. I hope you’re afraid, you son of a bitch. You should be.”
She reaches forward and switches off the camera.
74
28 days until the incident
Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson
Wednesday, 5 January 2005, 9:51 pm
Attic
I think I was beginning to lose myself to despair. I kept thinking, Did I dream her? Did I imagine her? Was she ever here at all?
But the dead girl came to me. I opened my eyes, and there she was, standing in the doorway. I never noticed before, but she’s wet. She raised one thin arm and motioned me to follow with her finger; her eyes were wide and sad, but she was still grinning. So I felt afraid.
But I didn’t care what happened, because what could be worse?
She took me upstairs, step by creaking step. I was a little dizzy and unsteady on my feet, and in quite some pain, but followed nonetheless. We haunted the corridors of the school, two specters of nothing, and I forgot to question where she was leading me.
The walls seem sad, which scares me. They seem to cry; I want to scream. But then I was in a classroom and the grinning girl was standing on a desk, her dead flesh dripping everywhere, and I knew I had to look inside.
And there it was. Carly’s journal.
When I looked up, she was two inches from my face, grinning at me with haunted yellow eyes. She said something, but there was no sound. It looked like “see what I found?” And then she was gone, walking away down the silent corridor, flickering in and out, like something about to crack and topple over.
And here I sit with it in my hands. It feels like an ancient relic of someone dead. The only piece left of them. Of her. That’s when it hit me, Dee. If I don’t get Carly back, she’s dead. She’s gone forever.
I can’t live like that.
There’s so much I want to tell her. I flipped to the back of her journal and wrote inside. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, she can see it.
Carly,
Nothing is the same without you. I eat because I need the strength to find you. I sleep because now my body forces me to. But it’s meaningless, like a movie set. I play a part, but there is no substance. I go home to nothing at the end of the scene.
I wish you could see how you’ve brought Naida and me together.
I wish you could see Ari… the things he’s revealed in me. What I’ve done. I’m sorry, so sorry, but I wouldn’t change it even if I could, because it saved me. He saved me. I was falling into a blackness without you that was darker than the world I lived in before. He reached into that darkness with his beautiful, strong hand, and he pulled me up. He continues to prop me up.
I think I love him. I want nothing more than to be able to tell you this. To believe that you can see these words and know that they’re true. But I would give him up if it would bring you back.
I’d give up anything for you.
Please come home. There’s a gap inside me waiting to be filled, and the longer you’re absent, the closer I feel something… other coming. The harder it will be to keep this space open, ready to receive you.
I feel the thing getting closer.
Hurry, Carly. Oh, hurry!
Give me a sign. Give me a sign, please, please, give me a sign. I will wait. I will watch. Please—anything. Anything, Carly, please!
Later
I feel the eyes of this attic over my shoulder as I read. I feel the urge to hide her words from the walls’ prying eyes. Her entries are discordant, worse than mine. “Got no pen,” she writes. Writes with a pen. “Something, nothing, sunlight isn’t real.” Broken fragments of thought, no more.
What was I expecting? That she would write endlessly about me, the way I do her? She was more of a poet than that.
Her words are neat and precise, solid and real. Then they change. The writing grows, like some kind of mythical beast eating space, disregarding the lines, looser, softer, more widely spread, until a few pages later, there