A Very Misleading Diary

December 30, 2013
Well, here I am. Keeping a digital diary because I think I’ve lost my fucking mind. If you think about it a diary is just one person talking to themselves, so maybe I really have. But I probably shouldn’t dwell on that. Much more unsettling stuff has been going down lately, and I’m keeping this “diary” so I feel like I have someone to talk to.

Because if I have just gone batshit, I don’t want to lose all my friends by telling them about what might just be vivid hallucinations. I only believe in what I can see with my eyes and feel on my skin. But yeah, where do I start?

First things first. My name is Alexander Stephens. I’m fairly unremarkable, I live alone, and I have a few good friends, a girlfriend, a steady job, nothing special. And as I mentioned earlier I am a proud skeptic. I never needed religion to give me answers, and while the other kids were talking about ghosts and the boogieman in kindergarten I was reading Junior Biologist and dinosaur anatomy books.

What I’m saying is I think all that shit about hauntings and angels and UFOs is just that: shit. If logic and science can’t explain it, then it probably belongs in the realm of fiction. Which is why what’s been happening troubles me so deeply. I know what I saw, I just don’t know how I can rationalize it.

Something is watching me. I keep seeing it just out of the corner of my eye; just long enough to catch a glimpse, not long enough to get anyone else’s attention. A man or a woman (neither, maybe?) in an elaborate cloak, and wearing a peculiar mask. It must want something from me, I just don’t know what.


January 3, 2014
New year, new changes. Heh. Really though, nothing’s changed. Except for one little thing. It’s become much more brazen. It’s stalking me. Taunting me, even. I mean, that’s assuming it really isn’t just a hallucination, but if it isn’t, it’s clearly intelligent. At one point I was standing on my deck and I saw it in the woods behind my house. I reached down for my iPhone to take a picture. I expected it to disappear by the time I’d looked back, like any specter should, but you know what? It was actually posing. POSING.

I would have tried to rip that mask off its surely smug-as-fuck face if I’d been closer. Instead I just took two shots, after which it walked behind a tree which should have been too small to hide its body and didn’t come out. By this I know its M.O. so I didn’t behave like an idiot and try to sneak around to see where it had gone off too. Real or not, I knew it had already disappeared.

But the thing is, I know it’s real now because I got the pictures. I can see it in the shots, staring at me through its mask like it’s haunting the image files. Maybe it is, I really don’t care at this point. I casually tried showing them to my girlfriend’s cousin, under the pretense of just being regular pictures of the woods and brook. She agreed they looked pretty, with no mention of the figure that I can plainly see standing front and fucking center. I even asked her if she noticed anything unusual with the image and of course she didn’t.

So it’s clear I can see it in any form, and no one else can see it no matter where it is. But how do I describe the apparition itself? I’ve got the image open in another tab as I write this, so I’ll do my best to describe it here.

Its top is a purple affair bared at the midriff (I should note its skin seems to be almost white), tight at the chest but very loose along the arms. It has green trim and golden highlights placed on strategic areas, with a sort of combed-down array of exotic multi-colour dyed feathers tracing down the sleeves, and strings of lapis lazuli and amethyst set into dark leather ribbons trailing off the integrated black hood like braids. Stitched along the hood is a gold thread pattern.

A separate piece which is somewhere in length between a dress and a skirt, with a split incorporated over the front of the left leg which widens on its way down, is the lower part of the outfit. An unblinking eye is painted or sewn onto the swatch of fabric over the front right. This ensemble partially covers the black leggings which seem to be a pair of dark-gray slacks.

And then there’s the mask; a blank white for the main component, in a kind of flush-fitting diamond shape which almost covers its entire pale-ass face except for the neck and chin. This white canvas of sorts seems to be then traced over with four red lines forming another diamond, with four more black lines in the center of the diamond forming a cross. What looks like a brown leather satchel at its hip, fine black dress shoes and likewise coloured gloves with thin silver chain around the wrists are the only other items I can see zooming in.

One thing I notice about the picture is very interesting. The way it posed the second time its back was facing me, and something was stitched on the back in shimmering ruby-red silk. “DE MORTUIS AUT BENE AUT NIHIL”. I Googled it and it’s an old Latin phrase which means “speak well of the dead or not at all”. This must mean something, I just wish I knew what.


January 5, 2014
I woke up less than two minutes ago with a jolt and now I’m typing furiously before I forget what occurred to me while I was sleeping. I need to write this down, and if it's not true I’ll delete this entry because it really sickens me. But what if this is a joke? What if everyone but me is on this, and when I check myself into a psych ward there’s gonna be some hack talk show host posing as the doctor and a bunch of hidden cameras? It’s a paranoid assumption, I’ll admit, but it seems like the most likely explanation at this point. Either that or I really am being haunted, and of course, that’s impossible.


January 7, 2014
I wished I wasn’t, I really did, but I was spot-on right. And I’m pissed. No. I’m enraged. This is all a joke, and I’m the laughingstock. Everyone is giggling behind their backs like they’re so fucking clever. Let me explain what happened today. This diary is the only thing I can still talk to without sounding retarded.

I met a guy at the 7-11 while I was leafing through some magazines. Real pretty-boy type, red-head, casual clothes, animated gestures, probably a flaming extrovert to everyone he meets. At first I thought that was why he seemed unusually talkative, and when I told him flat-out I wasn’t looking for conversation, he told me the biggest load of shit I’ve ever seen outside a septic tank. His expression got all serious, he called me by my full name, and he essentially told me he was an angel and he was duty-bound to tell me I was in danger. Oh, and you didn’t even get to hear the punch-line yet.

That other character showed up, probably from behind a hiding spot or something like that. You remember him, the one with the mask? I say “him” because I heard him talk and his voice was definitely male. I still remember the following exchange they had like the words are carved into my brain. Just to keep myself entertained while I type it down I’ll provide my colour commentary too.

“Leave him alone, ANGEL. You have no authority with this one” the one in the mask hissed.

(It’s worth noting the way he spat that one word, “ANGEL”. It was as if it was the worst insult anyone could possibly utter.)

“I have a name, Sidra”, the “angel” shot back, leering viciously at “Sidra” as it did so.

(The fuck? I’m not a Christian, but aren’t angels supposed to be peaceful and friendly? That expression looked more like something a serial killer would do to win a staring contest.)

“Fine then. Valerian Lucian, my dearest Angelus Inquisitor, would you kindly fuck off? Don’t you guys ever think of doing something about wars or AIDS or something important? Why do you give a shit about one person?”

(He has a point, Valerian.)

“You know that’s not the way the world works. Without suffering human beings don’t have an opportunity to mature or learn about arti-“

“Are you seriously trying to lecture me, a damned soul, on suffering? Do you have any idea how Adonai failed me in life?”

(At this point I was pretty lost. I looked up Adonai later and it means God in Hebrew but yeah, that’s all I got.)

“You must have been morally weak then. The strong and righteous live, the weak and sinful die. That is the way of existence.”

“Ignoring the fact that you just implied I deserved all my pain, then why are you trying to save this one? Look at it, it doesn’t want you. You tried to help it and it lashed out at you. It’s beyond repair, don’t waste your time.”

(I just realized then how annoying it is to be called “it”.)

At that point I spoke up.

“Can I go now? You two freaks of nature can talk about your imaginary friends without me, right?”

That seemed to greatly ruffle the feathers of the “angel”, Valerian.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, it’s one of those types. Fine, take it. I never want to see its face again. So many weeds in the garden these days…”

And with that our angel friend walked around a corner and ducked out of sight behind a shelf. I was about to follow him to ask what the fuck was wrong with him and his friend, or at least what sort of angel impersonator cusses, but you probably see where that went. Behind the shelf, no one was in the aisle. I turned around and (of course) his friend was gone too. I wanted to scream, but I settled for whipping a nearby can of pork and beans at the floor and dashing out of the store.

So yeah, that’s what happened. Since then I can see things. My friends smirk and when I confront them they act like they don’t know what I’m talking about. The same thing happens when I ask strangers why they’re staring at me. Like I’m stupid. No, I’m the normal one. They’ve all gone retarded but that’s okay. I’m better than them. I always was.


January 14, 2014
Not much today. On my way to work (I only leave the house to get food and go to work now) I noticed a guy in a gas mask, work boots, and a trench coat talking to a small kid. Probably 9 years old. Man that was surreal, but it was so funny it was a little refreshing. But I wonder who they were. Maybe just something easily explainable like…a cosplayer talking to a lost kid or something, I dunno.


January 21, 2014
I bought a gun for when they come. They’ll come in droves, and they all want to hurt me. All they want to do is hurt me. I would buy more than one weapon, but I need to save the money for paying bills. I can’t leave the house, so I can’t go to work, so I can’t pay my bills. But that’s okay. I’ll be dead soon anyway. And then they’ll die, those parasites, they leech off my essence to survive. I have this theory about how it works but it doesn’t make any sense when I write it down so just trust me on that.

I’ve gotten around the fact I only have one firearm by rigging traps all through my house, working backwards until now, with me in this bare room with this laptop and a steak knife and a few pipe bombs and my .40 S&W automatic handgun. I’m ready.

I just noticed something I was about to close this document but now im not theres something written what doesit say what does it say

Are you sure you even exist, Alexander Stephens?

ha haha yes I do this is not a joke lol I am real you are always wrong I am always right

You were right when you wrote the last line from your first entry. I did want something from you.

What why no nonononono just no

I wanted to break you. We hunger, Alexander.

Just fuck i’ve had it go away please stop

And did you wonder why I have that phrase emblazoned on my back? I think we should never forget the deaths of those who matter. I say this because when I was a human apparently my life didn’t matter at all to the people who were supposed to guide and protect me. After you are gone and not missed in the slightest either, you will feel the same. For that matter, from the way you acted I’d say even you didn’t even respect the gift that was your own life.

Stop I’m Better I exist you don’t im real please help someonehelp

You wasted your run, human. Ordinary people can go to Hell too.

Hah yet hell im better things in hellare better


The Feast of Io, 666, Circle Ten

And as for you. Yes, you the reader. You’re probably wondering how Alexander wrote this entry if he was dragged screaming to Hell, Where the Jackal Hungers and the Worm Dieth Not.

Don’t you get it, you self-obsessed, preening, mentally retarded monkey? Who the fuck keeps a diary in this day and age?! I wrote this whole thing! You humans are disgustingly easy to deceive. Alexander died because he was weak, simple-minded, and stupid. A perfect skeptic in other words. And you know what? Alexander never existed. When I said wrote this whole thing I meant that literally, this never happened. Of course it never happened, you think. I’m only reading fiction, you think.

But I am Sidra, and I am not a fictitious being. I am one of the Raven-kin. We are the unblinking star-daughters of Ba’al. We are born from the Hellbound oceans of blood and dirt, screaming our sins to the alien skies. We perch in the trillions on the banks of the river Styx where we strip the flesh from the bones of kings and paupers alike. But back to my main point, I wrote an obviously fake story. After all, people these days don’t seriously believe in these things. So, why would I do that?

You.

I wrote it to corrupt you. You read stories as warped and sadistic as this one, you glorify the strange, and you disturb things that are best left alone. Don’t lie to me, I know it’s true. You’re next, or should I say, first. Because while Alexander might not have been real, I assume you already know that you are. You know two beautiful human sayings that accurately describes what you’re about to go through?

“Life Imitates Art,” and “The Greatest Art Comes From Suffering”.