Fifth Entry

April 27th, 2027

My sleep has been worse, these past few days. I tried to go talk with Doctor Nawaz about it, but she seemed so overwhelmed by everything happening I couldn’t bear to add to her burden. And so, I turn to this journal, to try to place my inner thoughts into paper. Or a digital document, whatever.

Ever since I started working on the monument, the one example of solid writing and only thing keeping me relevant, I have dreams. Before, I could never remember them, but as of late, they seem more alive than ever. [18]

At first, not much happened. But that started changing. And I know what they mean, but I don’t want to.

Still, I’ll try to do my best to lay it on here. Might do me some good, give form to my worries. And being honest at least to myself should help coping with everything

Liar lIar liAr LiaR LIAR LiAr liar LIAr LiAr !!!!!!!!!

The dreams are, for the most part, the same thing happening, only going for longer each time. In it, I find myself at my childhood home, just as I remember it. The solar system diorama, the posters of far away galaxies covering every inch of the walls and the myriad of books lithering every piece of open space. It was all there.

And just as the familiarity settles, I hear a scream.

It comes from the lower floor, where I know my parent’s bedroom would be at the original house. A sense of dread would wash over myself, and so I ran out the room, the original pastel green walls on wooden floor greeting me. But to my left I find not the staircase leading down, but a solid wall. Only to the right the path continued until a fork to both sides.

At that point, more screaming, louder and filled with greater anguish. I hurry towards the fork, expecting to find the stairs, but to the end of both sides there’s more turning. The once so well-known location had been converted into a twisted accolade of windowless corridors, endless in size, providing only greater exasperation as the screaming turns louder and louder as I ran on trying to reach the first floor.

Shuld no listen! God, why did I listen?

Every night, the same thing. Even with medication, I still see it. Nothing I try can prevent me from reaching that accursed space, its screeching haunting even my waking hours. For weeks I have tried to ignore it, blaming my tired mind for it. That is, until I found the pattern.

For some reason, the labyrinth stays the same every night. I’m no scholar of the human mind, but even I can tell such a thing is unusual. But with that, a semblance of logic had been found and I brought to mind ways to solve the puzzle.

Upon waking up, I would note down the paths, mapping more of the place with each visit. Over and over, I traced forward, looking for the exit.

And just last night I have done it.

At the end of my trial waited the staircase, aged white paint flaking at points. My grandfather had maintained them with religious zeal for most of his life, but at some point, his back hurt too much to ever leave bed. And thus, the care had fallen to the wayside.

Sprawled limbs, back arched.

I didn’t feel joy in reaching my goal, however. My hands begin trembling as my fingers grow cold at the thought I had to descend into the abyssal darkness that greeted me upon looking down. Even so, the yelling downstairs held no waning in its intensity, so I descended down those ancestral steps, right into the blackened infinity below.

After what felt like several hours of walking down, I find a door instead of the original living room. As a greeting, the same blood curling sounds that had been my symphony over this whole ordeal. Swallowing what little liquid remained inside my mouth, I opened the door.

A field of grass, stretching as far as the eye could perceive. This is what awaited me. And my heart sunk for it.

Because I knew the place, and who awaited me there.

“Hello, nerd.” I’m so sorry! FORGYV Me!!!

An angelical voice rang, right where the door used to be. My breathing raised its pace, sweat sticking my clothes to the skin as I froze in place. A piece of me wished to turn around, to see the owner of the voice, even if I knew her. But that piece got beaten down with extreme ruthlessness by every other one.

And before I could make the decision, I woke up. Unable to return to sleep, I sat to work on my notes, clease my thoughts of what had happened.

It did not work, so now I record these notions. And I fear what next night will bring.

April 28th, 2027

The same room, the same maze. I try to ignore the urge to explore, to reach its ending. Wishing nothing more than remaining safe within the comfortable confines of my infant space. Even so, I still met the end of the long stretch of turns. I still walk down the same endless steps, down to the door.

I think myself a fool, for doing it. Knowing what it would bring. Still, I couldn’t hold back myself. Half of it came from knowing the nightmare would not end until I did so.

While the other half longed for the meeting.

The same greeting from behind, words that once had made my chest light as a feather. I don’t look back, but upon three long breaths, I speak “Is that you, Maria?”

Silence.

“Please, just say anything!”

Silence.

“Why do you torture me so? I thought we parted in good terms!”

Silence.

“Just say anything! Please!”

Silence.

“ANSWER ME!” And I turn.

To find a boy. I had never met him, but I knew who he was. Same walnut skin as my father, with the clever eyes straight from Maria. His smile has me taking a step back, heart sinking.

“Hello, Malik.” Richie

The voice, too deep to belong to any sort of child, wakes me from my stupor. I turn around and run. Nothing matters anymore, I just run. And when I wake up in my bed, my pillows covered in tears and snot, I yelled into it, praying no one else could hear it.

COWARD! [19]

The sound I make is the one that had guided me this entire time.

A quick talk with the doctor has me in possession of the strongest sleep meds we have. God, I hope they smother the dreams.

Please…

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[18] This “dreaming” phenomenon seems to be one the humans do when sleeping. We have evidence to suggest the specimens hold the notion they either have some deeper mystical meaning or can offer insights into the psyche of those experiencing them. Once more the thought of having no living creature left for further studies brings me a semblance of regret.

[19] This has been the entry with the greatest number of post comments from the specimen. Whether a sign of his deteriorating mental state once he had finished compiling everything or a section that holds greater significance to him, this warrants further analysis on the future.

Everything in this document has been fully translated from their original language into High Zatoreny.