This could be my last...

Where do I even start?

I guess with the hope that I don’t get too much blood on the paper. I’m banged up but all things considered, it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been a lot worse.

He, or whatever he was, broke the door down not too long after my first entry into this journal. He didn’t come in right away, rather he just looked at me, his facial expressions shifting as if he couldn’t figure out which emotion to settle on. I held my hands up, partly as a gesture to show that I wasn’t hostile and partly to prepare myself in case he came charging. Which he did. Before I could get my hands on the large kitchen knife on the counter nearby.

A bear hug. That’s what he opened up with. His grip so tight it was like I was being squeezed in a vice. He had my arms pinned and he kept saying “Gladly” over and over again in a high-pitched voice that cracked at the end. I head butted him a few times and I’m pretty sure I broke his nose. But he wasn’t letting go. He squeezed harder, kept smiling, kept talking.

I went all in and bit him. Right on the cheek. I can still taste copper on my tongue.

He let go. He started crying, then laughing. Then lashed out at me with those sharp fingernails of his. A whole handful of crack nails that got me good a few times. I got him back in the snotbox again before I managed to get a hold of the knife.

He went down, but he went down hard. Not in the way I’m used to either. He giggled and laughed, like I was tickling him. He face frozen in a smile.

After it was over I dragged him outside and left him out there. I made sure to look around to see if I had anymore visitors coming my way but aside from a few cars here and there, nothing. I ran back inside and just as I was getting ready to try and fix my front door that…blip happened and it was right as rain again. Fearing the worst I peeked outside and felt a morbid sense of relief.

His body was still there. He wasn’t moving.

I manage to track down my first aid kit in the bathroom and fixed myself up. He got me good but not good enough to put me out of the fight. And since I no longer had to worry about another intruder—for now anyway—I decided to try and learn what I could about…whatever this all is now.

Considering the pain I feel right now I have to assume that this is all real. It’s quite possible that maybe I’ve gone off the deep end but…I’m leaning more and more towards the notion that I’m just not in Kansas anymore. I’m somewhere else, where exactly…can’t really say.

So, about that reset thing that keeps happening. I did some more experiments and I learned a few things. First things first, it happens every four to six hours thereabouts. I couldn’t time jack with anything digital, my phone, my microwave, all of it had those weird characters. I had to use my analog wrist watch which seemed to function properly and I could actually read it.

Second, like I had found out before, if I take anything out of it’s original position it’ll be replaced when the reset happens. Yet the object that I moved or took will still exist. If this holds that means I can replicate water, food, medical supplies (I found another first aid kit in the bathroom after the last reset), anything. I even managed to replicate my duty pistol, my Glock 19.

So I guess that means I won’t starve at least.

Lastly, any damage done to the house is repaired following the reset. I punched a hole in my living room wall and it was fixed after the flip.

This only seems to apply to my house. I kept looking outside after every reset and the body of that…thing I put down remained.

But in my curiosity I did something that, I realize now, was kinda stupid.

I peeked out the front door and shot the window of one of the cars parked outside. Thinking I’d see if the damage would be repaired during the next reset. The “alarm” went off emitting a high-pitched…wail?

Whatever it was, I felt like my ears were bleeding and I quickly closed the door to shield myself from it. When it turned off I took a look through my peephole and that’s when I realized I really screwed up.

There were dozens of them out there now. Some gathered around the car, others around the body. Misshapen mimics of humanity that were reacting to the situation around them ranging from appropriate to insane.

A woman with two heads dressed in a business suit danced around the body flinging her briefcase wildly. One of the men by the car, who seemed to be unable to stand straight, started breaking off pieces of glass from the broken driver’s side window and ate them.

Another, an elderly woman with large sagging wrinkles, crawled about like a crab. Shouting out nonsense as if she were cursing something. She eventually made it to my front door and started banging on it with the back of her head.

“A mole! A crispy daisy vomiting digits!”

She hasn’t stopped banging the door for the past twenty minutes now. I’m not taking any chances and I’ve since barricaded the front door. Anything that tries to come through is going to get a buckshot sandwich from my Remington.

But the odds don’t seem to be in my favor anymore. She’s not the only one knocking at the door now as others have started to join her. To make matters worse something else is now knocking at the back door. I don’t have a peephole to look through but the way someone keeps giggling on the other side I figure it can’t be good.

That’s not even the worse part though. I can hear something in the attic now. I can hear it scratching, clicking.

This might be my last entry. Go figure.

Guess we’ll see.