Journal

8/5/**

They told me that I need to write while I'm in here. Okay, fine. I'll write. They said that it would be cathartic, that after such a traumatic incident it would help to get my feelings out on paper. They just think I'm crazy, and they want written proof. Doesn't matter. I know what happened. I know what I saw.

8/6/**

This place is like Hell. They say it's not a prison, that I'm safe here, but that's bullshit. I see the way the orderlies look at me. I'm not crazy goddamn it.

8/12/**

So today was therapy day. Dr. Stinson wasn't very happy that I haven't been journaling every day. I don't give a fuck, but he said they might think I'm a 'problem' if I don't do as I'm told. So here I am, writing some more. Fuck this place. Fuck the orderlies, and fuck you, too, Doctor. I know you read this.

8/13/**

I watched it rip her open. They think I did it, that I'm either making up the story or that I'm crazy and that's why I'm in here, but damn it I know what happened and I'm not crazy. Sheila...fuck.

8/14/**

We were on the road, on the way to visit her mother in the old folks home. That's when we saw it, on the side of the road. I know we both saw it, because she pointed it out to me. That's how I know it was real, see? She. Showed. Me.

The Faceless Man.

Everyone thinks I'm making him up, or that I got it from the Internet and it's all part of some complicated, guilt-based delusion, but I saw it tear her open and pull out her guts I saw it pick her apart rip her open tear them out I saw it I saw it I saw it

8/15/**

They tell me when to eat, they tell me when to sleep, they tell me when to shit. I hate this place. I wish I could burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes. I want to go home. I want to see my wife.

But I can't do either of those things. Not anymore.

8/16/**

We drove past him. We didn't think for a moment to stop for him. We were smart, see? Everyone knows that you don't stop and pick up hitchhikers, that's how so many goddamned horror movies start. You especially don't stop for suit-wearing, literally faceless ones. Didn't matter.

He caught up to us, and he tore her apart and played inside her skin while I watched. When they found me I was a gibbering wreck, covered in piss and shit and vomit and blood and not all of it was mine, not even most of it was mine.

And now I'm in here and he's still out there.

8/17/**

Therapy again. Dr. Stinson said he thinks my delusions are just getting worse, so he upped my medication. He also tried to take my journal away. I told him to go to Hell. He wanted me to have it now he wants to take it away? What kind of shit is that? Fuck him. At least he won't be reading it any more.

Which means he won't know that I spit the medication into the toilet. Fuck them and their drugs. They just want me to be a zombie so I won't fight them so much when they try and make me do things. Fuck them.

8/18/**

I don't know why he picked us. It couldn't have been random. It...it just couldn't have been random.

8/19/**

I think he's coming back for me. I think he wants to finish what he started. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I feel it. I see him in my dreams. He doesn't speak, he can't speak, he doesn't have a mouth. But I feel him. I feel him and it hurts.

8/20/**

One of the orderlies found my journal today. He was making fun of me, reading it out loud and laughing. He stopped laughing though, when he got to the Faceless Man. His face went white as a sheet and he shoved the book back into my hands, then he toddled right the fuck off like his pants were on fire.

He knows something.

8/21/**

That orderly came to me today. His name is Donald. He told me he's seen him, too, and that he doesn't think I'm totally crazy. Then he wandered off again. I tried to find him later, but the nurse told me that he went home early today.

I wish I could go home early.

8/22/**

They searched my room today, trying to find the journal, but they didn't find it. They looked right at it but they didn't find it. I wasn't even hiding it. They shook me down and tried to find it on me. They yelled in my face and told me they were gonna find it and when they screamed at me they didn't have faces anymore and what the fuck is happening?

8/28/**

I wasn't going to write anymore. I told myself that. But I couldn't put it off forever. I'll never get to tell a soul, not one who would believe me anyway, so I need to get this on paper.

He's here. In the hospital. I know he is, because he's staring at me with his eyeless face. And he killed Donald. I can feel it. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but at least I'll be with her again.

*/*/**
BLOOD SO MUCH BLOOD I FEEL HIS BLOOD IN ME

RED SO MUCH RED I LOVE THE RED I LOVE IT

WE'LL DANCE AND WE'LL LAUGH AND NO ONE KNOWS

I CAN'T STOP CRYING AND I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING AND THEY WON'T STOP BLEEDING