So I’m going to blog about it and hope doing so somehow makes everything better.
That last post, and the comments with it, freaked me out. Never should have read it at night. As I was looking at the comment Grendel made about him coming to get me, I could hear footsteps again in another room, coming closer….
Ran out my room, out the front door, and away from my house without stopping to think. I swear I could still hear the footsteps even outside the house, always just behind me…. I kept running until I found myself surrounded by lights and people. I was someplace in the city, close to downtown I think. Fairfax isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, but that doesn’t mean the place is abandoned once it gets dark. I think. I’d never before been downtown that late at night, so I can’t make too many claims about what’s normal for it….
It was like I was in a trance or something. I saw a bar, lights and music dancing out onto the street, and I slowly was pulled inside. Didn’t say anything to anyone in there; pushed through the clustered groups of friends to an unoccupied booth in the very back, and sat down. Just wanted to be someplace with lights and people, where I could feel safe from whatever imaginary monsters had been chasing me.
Probably sat there for forty minutes by myself. The staff didn’t bother me, which I was grateful for. I had just started to calm down, when I heard someone ask me if the seat across from me was taken. Jumped slightly in panic, all my prior fears rapidly returning, looked over to the source of the voice….
My first impression on the man was that he was gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. No, more than movie star. No-real-person-could-possibly-look-that-good gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but you could still see the muscles underneath his black shirt. Angular face, with high cheekbones, rich black hair, and a smile which practically gleamed…. Spending too much time on describing, focus Lisa, focus.
There was no way I could try to respond to his question; my attempts at doing so ended with me stammering meaningless syllables. He laughed at that, and sat down anyways. Ordered us both wine; as soon as my glass arrived, I drank it as fast as I could. Needed something to help me out with this crazy swerve my night had taken.
That drink did help, enough that I could actually talk to the man. Said his name was John. I didn’t learn much more about him than that, except that he said he worked as a historian… For most of the conversation, we were talking about me. Didn’t know how to deal with that; no one’s ever shown real interest in me before, much less a guy like that. I told him about myself…. How I’d been working as a librarian until I was fired a few months ago, that I loved to read and write… Even got into a few more private details as I drank more. Told him that most of my family was dead, that I lived alone in the big house on the hall just outside town, and as the hours passed, I even started talking about Elizabeth and the black chest. I thought he’d laugh at the story, but he was actually interested, and I ended up telling him the whole thing.
Lost track of hours after a while. John was funny, smart, sophisticated (I don’t think I’ve ever before heard anyone else use “thereof” in casual conversation). This was the first time I ever been in a situation like that. It was…. exactly like my craziest romantic thoughts had imagined it would be. Sometimes I thought that I had to be dreaming. No way could this be happening to me.
Completely forgot there was a world outside the booth until we were told that the bar was closing up. How many hours had we been talking like that? I was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks (I am such a lightweight), but John offered to walk me home.
Walking down the streets at night, leaning on John to keep my balance, feeling happier than I had in such a long time…. I swear I had fallen into a romance novel.
Then the genre changed.
We were passing by an alleyway when John stopped. Still was a bit drunk, so his sudden stop caused me to stumble. He grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, but his grip was no longer gentle; felt like a vice crushing my arm, enough to make me shout in surprise. I looked at him, confused, and….
…. Until that point, I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were. I’d seen his eyes, I even remember thinking to myself how beautiful they looked…. But my brain couldn’t focus on their color. Except right then, I suddenly could.
His eyes were bright red, like fire…. And when he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp….
I wanted to scream, but my lungs couldn’t draw the air. He threw me into the air, as though I didn’t weigh anything, into the alley. I must have flown at least twenty feet before hitting some trash bags stopped me. Opened my eyes, and he was standing over me, grinning wide enough to show all the teeth in his mouth.
“Hello, Lisa!” John’s voice had become harsh, sounding almost like an animal’s growl. He grabbed me by the throat with one hand, and easily lifted me into the air, squeezing my neck until it felt like it was being crushed. With his other hand, he started casually ripping buttons off my shirt. I wanted to fight back, hit him or kick him or something, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, and all I could do was stare into those burning eyes.
“It’s DINNER TIME!” He growled.
Nononononono, not this, not again, no…..
Heard a bang, and half of John’s face ripped apart into blood, bones, and black… shadow… stuff…. Not sure how to describe it…. Almost like oil, but too ethereal to be liquid….
He let go of me and I hit the concrete. There was a woman at the opposite end of the alley, pointing a gun at John. Hard to see that late and night, but it looked like she was smiling.
“Evening, Grendel!” She shouted.
I turned my head slightly.... Moving my neck just a little brought pain…. So I could look back at John…. Grendel…. Whatever he’s called. The shadows were flowing back into the hole that had been shot in his head. Bone, muscle, and skin started to grow back over the shadows, until there was no sign that he’d been injured. His smile was still there; almost seemed to grow even larger, if that’s possible.
“Darling!” He kicked me violently to the side. “I swear, it’s not what it looks like! I was just-“
The woman shot him through the head again; a few seconds later, that new injury was gone as well. He still didn’t stop smiling.
I still couldn’t move my arms or legs, no matter how hard I tried. It was still hard to breath…. The two were saying something, but I couldn’t make out any of it. Could barely see them, as my vision started to go fuzzy.
At some point, I went unconscious. The last thing I clearly remember is a burning white light, and what sounded almost like Grendel shouting “No fair!” Then I woke up in my bed. Again.
Had another freakout as I remembered what happened last night, but calmed down when I reassured myself it had to be a dream. Well, maybe not the drinking part; I had the hangover to tell me that was real. Everything else? I dunno, maybe I had drunk more than I thought….
Door to my room opened, and a woman came in holding a cup of coffee. The cheery way she said good morning didn’t help with the headache, but the coffee and pain meds she gave me was nice, so I suppose-WHY IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN INSIDE MY HOUSE.
It was the woman from last night. Nearly spit out my coffee all over her when I realized it. What had I been doing then….
How am I supposed to talk about her. Let’s start with the normal stuff. I think I can handle the normal stuff for now. She had long black hair (see? Normal enough.), was wearing a blue suit with a long brown coat over it (even had a tie. Bit formal, but I suppose that’s still regular clothing, right?), a black glove (just on her left hand. O-kay, only one glove, bit odd….), two scars on her face, a curved one on the left cheek and one going diagonally across her nose (not used to seeing facial scars on people, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation….), and an eye patch (kay, I’ve got nothing for that).
Never could shake the feeling that I was looking at a well dressed pirate girl.
Then she introduced herself.
“Sorry about what you had to go through last night. Hope you’re feeling a bit better today. Oh, by the way, I’m I-330.”
Yes.
I-330.
The person who’s been posting on this blog.
That time, I wasn’t able to stop myself from spitting out the coffee. At least she’s got fast reflexes, and ducked out of the way before any of it hit her. Started to feel faint again. That was all way too much for me to be taking in. The room started to spin around me, I heard I-330 asking if I was alright, and then I blacked out again.
Woke up less than an hour ago. The coffee cup was sitting next to my bed, contents cold, next to a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it, and whatever mess my spit-take had made was cleaned up. I cautiously peeked out my door and looked around. Soon as I saw I-330 lying on a couch, reading a book she’d picked up from my mess on the floor, I closed my door and ran back to my bed. Couple of minutes later, got out my laptop and started writing this post. Then I ate the sandwich because I haven’t eaten anything at all since last night.
Really don’t know what to do here. Should I try talking to I-330? I have a lot of questions I need to ask her…. But I’m too nervous to try. What if those things I remember actually happened last night? Does that mean all the posts she’s made were also true? If they’re true, then…. I don’t know. Someone took my conception of what the world was like and smashed it with a hammer last night. Can’t say when I’ll get over that….
-Lisa
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