Category: mistiness


Freewriting

It was Monday no a Tuesday it doesn’t matter it was a day, like any other just a day. and mom went out and we were home and I knew what she was doing but I didn’t tell anyone because what good would that do. Nathan was being a brat and Esther was nervous about something and wouldn’t stop crying and I snapped at them because I was frustrated too and what were they FIRE going to do about it anyway to help me they never helped they just whined around causing problems FIRE FIRE. No that’s not true, that’s not fair, Nathan helped a lot. But he was just a stupid fourteen-year-old kid and what did he know, anyway? I was the big sister and I was supposed to watch out for them and it was my job,

FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE

Johnny saw him first, saw the face in the window and he said, “Adele there’s someone looking at us, he looks like a hobo, should we give him some bread?” Mom wouldn’t want us to but Mother wasn’t there and I was in charge I was the big sister. And Nathan was being a jerk and said no let him starve we all have to make our own way in the world and there’s plenty of times we were hungry and no one gave anything to us so why should I be any different but Kenneth was the smartest of any of us and said that’s WHY we’re supposed to be different because we know, we know what it’s like and we have to be different than how the world is

FIRE THERE WAS A FIRE

No there wasn’t there wasn’t any fire I was there and I know.

And then the gentleman without a face reached right through the wall he reached through the wall with an arm like a branch uncurling like a lance uncurling like a long curling lance and he grabbed at us and I knew we had to run. There was there was there was a shotgun on the wall there was a cordless phone I grabbed the phone the gun I ran. No I stayed I told them to go into the woods, go into the woods I’m right behind you.

And Mother came back for her stupid pearl earring and blood blood blood all over the walls and ears and hair and brains and guts and fingers and skin and that little hairy patch from her kneecap that she was always trying to shave and never quite did

Her boyfriend stood her up she came back looking for his number

the earring the earring it was the number the phone number his cell number she didn’t find it

She didn’t find it she died, she died right there in front of us and blood and hair on the walls and her ear would never hold another earring again and her hand would never hold another phone

they said it was her boyfriend, her last one, jealous, he was a drug dealer and he cut her up, the gangster with the lake house and all the speakeasies in Chicago it was him they said it was him who did it but it wasn’t we know it was the man without a face the gentleman who looked like the moon

At least they didn’t see it, Nathan and Esther and Johnny and Kenneth. They ran out to the woods behind the house beyond the barn before Mother Mom came back for her earring phone number. And I had the shotgun the cordless phone and tried to use it but my hands were shaking and I ran we ran I ran too and I followed them

I almost tripped so many times because I kept looking over my shoulder but he wasn’t following and I was so stupid so foolish so idiotic I thought I thought I thought he didn’t follow I didn’t know that he didn’t have to follow he never had to follow because he was already there in the place we were running to he’s always there he’s always everywhere he doesn’t have to come because he’s already there

We hid in the trreeeeeessssssssss

We hid in the trees, I boosted Kenneth and Johnny and Esther up to Nathan who was already up there, he climbed like a monkey he’s always been able to do that and I lifted them helped them boosted them up and we thought it was okay all right just peachy there behind the leaves leaves leaves like a covering of lace doesn’t cover up anything like beetles, beetles crawling, little green leaves so little and useless

We hid in the trees wee were so stupid d d

it was like they exploded. it’s an explosion in my head. all happening at once. but it didn’t ,it didn’t happen at once. he took his time he took his time HE TOOK HIS TIME HIS TIME HE TOOK IT TIME HE TOOK ALL THE TIME HIS TIME

the barn was on fire it was burning burning burning it was bright and hot and yellow and red

FIRE FIRE FIRE THERE WAS A FIRE

he opened them up like Christmas and he loved it he loved it so much and he made us me adele watch

GOD DAMN YOU TAKE ME INSTEAD TAKE ME INSTEAD TAKE ME INSTEAD TAKE ME INSTEAD

he didn’t want me he never wanted me not like that he didn’t have to open me up because he was all ready already there he didn’t want me because he already had me always did i was always his and didn’t know it and he doesn’t want what he already has

little adele dear little adele sweet little adele you care so much and you draw them to you and you draw me to them and i follow you i follow you into their dreams and i am there right there right there every second and this this last part this is nothing this is the least of what i do what i see where i am this is a final signature on a longlonglonglonglonglong letter filled with my handwriting and you helped me write it dear adele you are the ink and the quill and the parchment and the words

he doesn’t speak he doesn’t have to he looks at you and you know and the barn was burning and he opened them up like christmas in july and mom mother was all over the kitchen in lumps of blood and tissue like the first time we had our moonthly

mooon

i see the moon and the moon sees me and the moon is the somebody i want to see

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Two ideas

I’m still trying to get recordings, talk to the other Adele and ask questions, but she hasn’t gotten through to me lately. Sometimes I’ll see a blip in the recording that looks she’s talking, but when I listen it’s just static, like you heard in the earlier recordings. It’s happening infrequently, but often enough to bother me. It makes me think that something is keeping her away. That she’s trying to get through and can’t. Am I Fiona now? Is he cutting me off the way he cut her off?

I have two ideas. One is to go to a near-by city that has a big library, including a nice genealogy section, where I might be able to look up the other Adele and her family and find out what happened to them. But I don’t have a car, and like I said, I’ve been busy working this summer. Hopefully I get over there before school starts, though. It’s starting soon. Senior year. I really don’t care about it much at all.

I keep thinking there might be other clues, too. In… in what happened to me and my family. Maybe there are parallels, maybe. I need… I NEED to write about it. Talk about it. Something. Somehow. I need to be able to communicate what happened that night. But every time I try, it just gets all tangled up in my mouth, in my fingers.

There was. There was blood. And my mother. And the branches whipping against the sky. And we tried to hide but it didn’t work. And there was so much blood. And no one remembers but me.

My fingers are shaking, just trying to type that much.

My counselor says it’s okay. That I should just get it out anyway I can. It’s like my brain is a barrier, and I need to turn it off for a little bit to get it out. She said to try “freewriting.” Just writing and writing without stopping, letting whatever will come out come out.

But that scares me, too. Who knows what will come out if I just give my brain free reign. I don’t think it will be nice. It won’t be nice at all.

And maybe that’s what’s stopping me in the first place. The fear of what’s there.

But I can’t be afraid. I told myself, I promised myself, I have to do whatever I have to do. I can’t be Fiona. I can’t be oblivious and blind and vulnerable when there’s anything I can do to prevent it. I have a new family, new siblings, and I have to protect them. I have to do anything I can to protect them.

But I’d really rather try going to the library first.

Christmas in July

My new family sure loves their get-togethers.

This was last week. One of my new aunts has a nice place in Michigan, and we met there for Christmas in July. It was really lovely. They had a pool, so I got to go swimming, which I love. It was fun to play with Morgan and Katelyn and Eddie and Matty, Marco Polo and Sharks and Minnows and trying to talk underwater and who can hold their breath the longest and some games we made up. For awhile, I forgot about my lost siblings. And I felt bad afterward. But… maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe they wouldn’t want me to.

I was almost happy. But seeing my grandparents there reminded me.

I gathered up my courage and asked questions. Something I’ve been wondering since this mistiness started. The ghost. Adele. The other Adele. It feels so strange to write that, to say that. I think she followed me back from my grandparents’ place after our spring gathering. Maybe because she shared my name. Maybe that woke her.

I asked my grandmother if she had ever heard any ghost stories about her house. She said no, that the house has been in their family for almost a century, and she’s never heard anything. I hesitated, but I had to ask, “Have you ever felt anything strange there? Or seen something you couldn’t explain?”

She looked at me a little strangely, but again she said no. She was very patient with me. I couldn’t help feeling that I was wasting her time. I almost told her about what I saw that first night I stayed in their house, but I didn’t. I guess I didn’t want to be dismissed as a lunatic, a disturbed little girl with too many bad things her past.

That happens to me enough as it is. No need to invite it.

So I showed her the picture on my phone of the foundation of the barn. Here: http://i1201.photobucket.com/albums/bb360/takeadele/IMG_20110430_151519.jpg. I asked if she knew how the barn burned down.

It was like I’d hit her with a static shock. She jerked a little, eyes widening. Peered closer at the picture, eyes darting back and forth. As if she’d never seen it before. “I’ve never actually thought about it, honey.”

“You’ve never…your family…you never thought about rebuilding it?”

“No… No, I don’t think we ever did. Not even back when I was a little girl, when we still had dairy cows. It was just…there. We walked around it. We didn’t really look at it.”

“It’s just…just been sitting there for decades, then? That…pile of rubble?”

“Well, yes. I suppose so.”

I pulled back, dread pulling at my chest. “Do you know what happened to the family who had the house before you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t think I ever knew. I do…I do think that they were farmers, too. Had a number of children. They must have fallen on hard times. That was the Great Depression, hon. I was only a baby during that time. We left the dustbowl of Oklahoma, moved further northeast to corn country. We were lucky. We found a place for ourselves. But I was too small. I can’t tell you anymore than that, sorry.”

My head was spinning. I thanked her, I think, and went off by myself to think.

The other Adele had a family, too. And their barn burned down. And no one touches that place. No one notices it. They just pass right by. It’s invisible to everyone.

Except me.

New information

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated. It’s…been a busy summer. I’ve been working for my dad at his retail store, which is very busy in the summer, and making recordings every night, and…

A few weeks ago I got this.

Test number something, I don’t know

So I’ve been trying to figure out what that means. I’ve been talking to people and going to the library and…

I’ll update more soon. I’ve found out a few things. They scare me.

Then again, maybe not.

When my fingers are shaking I type my email address as “takeaddle.” Sort of appropriate.

Still don’t understand her.

Test 4

Audio difficulties

I’m recording for a few hours every night, now, hoping to catch something. Nothing new yet besides the clip I posted the other day. It’s frustrating, though, because I keep having to record for half an hour or so, then listen to it to see if there’s anything on it. I still don’t hear anything audible. Anyone know an audio program that will give me a visual as I record so if something happens I can see it and hopefully respond? Freeware would be nice.

If no one has any ideas, I’ll probably end up googling around for something. Thanks in advance.

Test 1

I’m sorry, Fiona. I realized that it’s not just myself I need to protect. I have a family now. I can’t let the infection spread. I have to do what I can to fight it, whether cutting off a gangrenous leg or listening to ghosts.

Thank you to everyone who wrote encouraging notes. You’re right. I have to be afraid. But I also have to act. So here I am, grabbing my courage with both hands.

It worked. I don’t know if I’m sorry or glad. Mostly right now I’m just freaked out. She’s talking to me, but I’m not sure what she’s saying.

I left my microphone recording for about half an hour before checking the sound. After the burst of static, the ghost voice doesn’t speak again. I trimmed the recording after a minute or so, because there’s nothing else to hear. The little snuffly noises you hear toward the end of this clip are Baxter inspecting the mic.

Test 1

Today was the last day of school. I think some of my schoolmates are having parties. They couldn’t feel farther away. Just around the block, yet more distant than the pale, open face of the moon.

Sound of silence

I’m such a coward.

On my last post, a commenter suggested that I try recording in my room without speaking to see if the microphone will pick up something my ears can’t. It’s an excellent idea and I said I would do it. I haven’t.

I’ve been busy, yes. Saturday was a family picnic, enjoyable but hot and sticky. There was “no time” to make a recording.

On Sunday, Katelyn wanted to play card games with me. She’s never asked me to do something with her before, and it was really nice. Fun. I “forgot” to make a recording.

Monday was school, almost over, very busy. That night I was “too tired” to make a recording.

Now it’s Tuesday and I just have to admit that I’m scared. Maybe I don’t want to hear what this ephemeral voice has to say. Maybe it will change things. Maybe I’ll start being terrified again of every shadow, every stranger, every tree branch, every silent moment in a crowded room. …Not that I ever totally stopped. Maybe I won’t be able to do anything to change anything, again. Maybe fate is inexorable. Maybe I’m crazy and this is all just in my head anyway, the voice, the face, all of you who read this and comment. Maybe everything everywhere is a figment of my imagination and none of it matters anyway. Maybe that would be the kindest truth of all.

I said some very brave, bold things in the last post, but you should all know by now that I am very small and very scared and very bad at this. At everything.

I’m sorry.

Sleepless

Eddie tried to convince me it was a game.

“They’re just people telling stories on the internet.”

He tried to show me sites. I wouldn’t look.

“It’s not real, Adele. Fiona probably isn’t even a real person. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

He’s trying to keep me sane. It’s kind of him.

I didn’t want to touch a computer.

While all that was going on with Fiona, I looked at my box.net account and saw the song that someone who isn’t me uploaded. Deeply unsettled but too busy to notice, I deleted it. Then I clicked away for a few minutes, looking for some other avenue to reach her. When I looked back, it had been uploaded again.

I only sign into that account on this computer. I was using it the whole time. No one else could have done it. I don’t remember doing it. Why would I do it anyway. Am I insane? Again? I have to believe that I would know. If I can’t believe that, I truly have gone mad.

If you exclude the impossible, you must consider the improbable. Someone is trying to warn me.

Fiona didn’t listen. She didn’t hear the warnings. She never wanted to, and now she’s gone. He took her. I won’t, I can’t, I will not make the same mistake. I will listen.

I’m trying so hard to listen. But I can’t hear anything. I lie here in the dark with my eyes wide open, staring at the empty ceiling, straining my ears, and I only hear the white rush of sound that is countless molecules of air beating against my eardrums. The roar and clamor of utter silence, drowning out everything else. How can I hear when the quiet is so loud?

I don’t know what to do. I wish I could sleep.

Fiona!

I know you read my blog. Listen, someone is messing with my comments over there. I am NOT telling you to trust you prince, but the exact opposite! Whoever is messing with my comments is twisting my words to you.

Here’s my original comment: I’m really worried about you, Fiona. You’re being isolated and manipulated. DON’T TRUST YOUR PRINCE. I don’t think he’s a prince at all. Can you remember a face, even now? Faces are important. He’s getting inside your head, giving you things you want. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust any of it.

The gobbledygook made it look like: IอŸ TRUST YOUR PRINCE. I think heโ€™s a prince Heโ€™s iving you things you want. trust it. trust it.

(It’s making me really nervous copy-pasting that stuff into my blog, so I tried to delete it.)

This was John’s original comment: Gafahr: To be in danger. oh no mr. prince asshole, you’re not gonna put Fiona in danger! Fiona you need to wake up and get the hell out of there right NOW. stay with house, sleep in the same bedroom with your dad but you must NOT BE IN THAT ROOM ALONE.

The Matrix shit made it say: Fiona you need to stay sleep you must BE ALONE IN THAT ROOM

This NOT what John and I were saying!

Late last night I checked your blog and saw this stuff, so I posted a new comment, too worried to take time to long in. I told you to GET OUT and GET OUT NOW, trying to choose language that would be impossible to change for misinterpretation, and whoever is messing with your account made is say MIAU MIO over and over again. Then today you posted more from that creepyass children’s book and it had a story with those words and Fiona I am so terrified for you right now. I am so so scared. I would comment on your site again but I don’t think you’d see it. I hope, man, I pray you read this and GET AWAY. This isn’t going to end. It’ isn’t going to end and I don’t want you to die. You were reading my blog just a few days ago, saying you heard that shit in my audio which someone apparently thinks was someone warning me and I’m warning now Fiona you have to leave you have to leave you have to get away.

Go to your dad or mr officer or whatever I don’t care but don’t stay in that room anymore and don’t open a window and don’t TRUST PEOPLE WHO DON’T HAVE FACES. PEOPLE WITHOUT FACES KILL.

ED

FUCK! FUck fuckity fuck fuck fiuck it!

So agitated I’m having trouble typing. I made an image to post in her comments, hoping that would get through when my words didn’t. This:

Photobucket

He changed it to this:

Oh god. Look at the url. http://i1119.photobucket.com/albums/k632/stayawayadele/Fionastaywhereyouare.gif

I am so freaked out now. I can’t do this. Oh god. She’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do. I tried to email her but I know it won’t work. God dammit. I’m crying.

I don’t really know this girl. I only ever read her blog, never talked to her in person or anything, don’t even know what she looks like. But she’s seventeen, same as me, and she’s going to die, and there’s nothing I can do.

I’m sorry, Fiona. I’m so fucking scared now, and not just for you.

Ed again

and here’s our email exchange

fabulousfiona94@gmail.com
to adele t
date Sun, May 29, 2011 at 9:31 PM
subject Re: Miau, mio
mailed-by gmail.com
signed-by gmail.com

hide details 9:31 PM (1 hour ago)

Hey Adele!

I just saw your comments, too. What’s with that miau mio? Are you a German kitty all of a sudden? ๐Ÿ™‚
It’s almost a bit unsettling, though. The cats in the book cried miau mio to warn the girl of the fire and to cry for help. So, not nice implications you give me there. But don’t worry, I’m not going to go near any fire anytime soon. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Bye, Adele!
Fiona

On Sun, May 29, 2011 at 9:54 PM, adele t wrote:

Miau, mio miau mio. Miau mio miau mio? Miau, mio miau mio miau mio miau mio miau mio miau mio miau mio miau mio miau, mio? Miau mio miau mio miau mio.

it should go without saying that that is not what I wrote.