Monday, May 30, 2005

Sorry for the Delay...

For those wondering why I haven't updated the story recently, I lost my notes regarding the next section!! Grrr... I'm such a professional, huh?

I will get it together and begin updating this blog again soon. I will announce the update at The Slacker Shack once I'm ready.

Sorry!

Best Wishes!
Drake :)

Friday, May 20, 2005

When Reality Shifts

It has been well over a week since my last entry. So much has happened, I nearly forgot to log it all.

It was either two or three days after the strange late night call when I finally received the call I've been waiting for: Theresa. After waiting for close to a month, after all the unusual occurrences surrounding the book she sent me, I finally could tell her of my experiences and try to get some feedback.

After telling her everything - I even told her of this blog just to make sure I didn't leave anything out - she was silent for a several seconds. When she finally spoke, I wasn't prepared for what she had to say.

She said that she never sent me the book, but she gave it to me in person at the Dal Cuore restaurant! The owner was not only not dead, but he sat with us to discuss the book - He is an expert of ancient and unusual manuscripts.

If anyone else had told me this, I would have been furious. But I knew Theresa was never one for pranks or jokes during serious discussions. Whatever she said, she meant it. So I didn't argue with her - I just felt numb when I heard her version of events.

She didn't accuse me of lying or joking either - She said experiences like mine are not too uncommon when one was associated with the book.

I will omit the long discussion we had, since it basically is a recap of this entire blog. In the end, we agreed to meet once again at Dal Cuore this Sunday. She ensured me that it was still open and told me to bring the book along.

I hated to hang up the phone, since she seems to be my only connection to this strange phenomena. I fear that she won't be there Sunday or the restaurant will be closed again or some other unexpected obstacle will prevent of from meeting. She did promise to call me more often, to try to keep a line of communication open between us.

I checked on the book - It was still properly located on the shelf where I last put it. I threw away the packaging the book came in, so I cannot prove to Theresa that it was mailed to me.

But then, what if she is correct and my view of what happened is completely wrong? Slowly, I am losing track of what is real and what is not.

After an hour after I had spoken with Theresa, another call came in. It was a male's voice, sounded like he was talking in a coffee can - Very tinny, hollow. I could barely make out what he was saying, but it sounded like a warning or a command, repeated over and over again. I could make out the word "don't" a few times but nothing more. Finally the line was disconnected.

I knew I wouldn't make it through the day without some sort of paranoia gripping me. I am becoming used to the sensation.

Phase One: Table of Contents

Monday, May 09, 2005

Shattered Silence

It's been a week since my last entry. Other than this unrelenting sense of paranoia, everything seemed back to normal. I worked overtime at work to complete the first draft of my video project. No strange phone calls, no "psychic" experiences, or other strange occurrences. The mysterious book remains on my bookshelf. All in all, my mundane world had returned.

And then it happened... Early this morning, around 3:30 or so, the phone rang. I groggily answered it, not awake enough to consider the possibilities of whom it could be.

Initially, I had to strain to hear the voice. But slowly I could make it out. In a soft, Italian accent, it asked, "You could see me, see all of us."

I asked who he was and started to wake up a bit more. The voice on the other side repeated itself: "You could see me, see all of us." Then he added, "You are now aware." And then the line when dead.

I hung up and could barely think about this brief conversation - I was still so tired. It wasn't until later that I really gave it some thought. An Italian accent? Too obvious - I guess he was supposed to be Mr. Tabellini. But who would have played a such a hoax on me? And why?

While I tried not to give it too much thought, the voice kept repeating in my mind. "You are now aware." What specifically am I aware of?

Probably this isn't even worth wondering about. But it is the first noteworthy incident in a week, I suppose. I'm not going to worry about it for now.

Monday, May 02, 2005

An Unpleasant Calm

The weekend passed with no further incidents. I stayed locked up in my apartment Saturday, the phones disconnected, myself wrapped in the confusion of the previous week.

It has been a week since my visit to a no-longer-existent restaurant with the "ghostly" owner eyeing me. If that weren't enough, I remember other patrons in the restaurant as well. Who were they? I didn't really pay attention to them at the time, so I probably would not recognize them if I ever saw them again.

I did get up the nerve to drive by the Dal Cuore yesterday, and sure enough it was closed with a large "For Lease" sign in the window. My co-workers were right.

Today at work was a mess. My boss was furious at my sudden departure last Friday and with my vague excuses as to why I fled. I furiously plodding along on my video project, vaguely wondering if I will still have a job after it is done. Oh well... That is the least of my worries now.

Even now, I still bounce back and forth between fear and disbelief of the recent events. However, the book I have been cursed with seems to be behaving now. It hasn't disappeared or reappeared mysteriously since Friday.

After thinking it over the past couple of days, I've concluded that the only keys to this mystery are the book (which I cannot decipher), Theresa (who I cannot contact), and possibly the owner of the Dal Cuore (who had committed suicide weeks ago). Three strikes, and I am left out in the dark.

Perhaps I can put this aberration behind me, either pretend it never happened or was just "one of those things," a bizarre anecdote like those found in UFO and paranormal books. Perhaps some debunker could find a quick, pat explanation for it all, while I, the experiencer, will always feel the matter unresolved.

I have plugged the phones back in, and so far there have been no calls. Everything is quiet. Just me alone in my apartment, sitting in front of my computer, journaling away a week of life.

To think, the only reason I started this blog was to document my reunion with Theresa. I had no idea my little online narration would become so detached from normal reality.

But despite the normalcy of the weekend and today, I still have a bad... I don't know... Premonition? Just a sense that things are not completely back to normal. Somehow, reality just feels different - I still feel a nagging sense of dissociation with everything. I want to believe it is simply paranoia, given the events of last week. But I think that is only wishful thinking.

In my heart of hearts, I know the shadows behind the cracks of reality are watching me. But are they benign or malevolent? And will the come back out to taunt me again?

Friday, April 29, 2005

Order Into Chaos

Everything is getting too overwhelming and confusing now. I just do not know what to do.

But first, let me put this in chronological order. That is, if I still know what time is...

As I was lying in bed last night waiting for the Ambien (a sleeping pill) to take affect, I reviewed the recent happenings of this past week. I felt so foolish, like a scared little boy. What really had happened this week? Theresa, a lady friend I haven't heard from in years, called. She made a lunch engagement with me but failed to appear. I felt paranoid because an elderly man looked at me in a restaurant. I had some vague nightmares. I got an odd book from her in the mail. And I've received a series of hangup calls. So what?

It's all very simple, actually.

Theresa probably was about to do some research in my area. She wanted to see me, catch up on some old times, and she would have mentioned that she mailed a book to me, probably because she was in transit. That would explain the lack of a return address. Something must have come up and her plans were altered, and she never got around to calling me. The stress of my friends' illnesses and frustrations at work probably affected my dreams. As for the hangup calls? I could simply be having problems with the phone line, or maybe a new business in town has a similar number to mine and people quickly hang up when they realized they had dialed the wrong number.

I thought about how today's movies feed the public's neurotic fears. Hang up calls? "The Mothman Prophecies." An occultic book? "The Evil Dead." I must just be another victim of Hollywood's hysteria machine.

And with the security of my rationalization and pseudo-intellectualism, the Ambien kicked in, and I fell into a deep sleep.

This morning when I awoke, I was still a little bit groggy from the sleeping pill, but I was alert enough to quickly get out of bed, shave, shower, get dressed, and go to the kitchen for a bite to eat before heading into work.

As I sat down, I looked at Theresa's book resting on the table. I chuckled at myself for secretly feeling so superstitious about the book last night. As I drank my coffee and ate my bagel with peanut butter, I started looking through the book again.

Assuming the book is read from left-to-right, I noticed that the illustrations started out rather simplistic at first and became increasingly complex as the book continued. I also noticed more of Theresa's handwriting throughout the book, which seemed to increase further into the book. It surprised me a little that she would write in such an old book. While she didn't believe the supernatural or occultic subjects she researched, she still was respectful and wouldn't deface such an old book. Perhaps the book was very common or was completely worthless.

I noticed the time and knew I had to get going before I was late to work again. So I closed the book, grabbed my wallet and keys, and took off to the video production house.

The morning was very uneventful. I watched tape after tape of a college president waving to this group of people or to that group of people or giving out an award or receiving an award. On and on it went. Luckily, there wasn't any video footage of him from the 1970s, but as the 1980s progressed and video recorders became cheaper and more common, it seemed that every repetitive move he made was recorded. It seemed that he had more photo-ops than the average Senator. It was so boring.

But as the morning turned into noon, an uneasy feeling began creeping into my consciousness. Vague at first, more annoying than frightful, it keep pestering me as I viewed the endless library of dull tapes. And then suddenly, as if an icicle were stabbed into the back of my skull, the realization struck me!

What was Theresa's book doing on the breakfast table?

I know I had put it back in its original packaging and had placed it in the storage chest in the spare bedroom last night before going to bed! How did it end up on the breakfast table, right in front of the chair I normally sat in? I know I didn't get it back out last night. And even in my Ambien grogginess, I was definitely awake enough to know that I didn't take it out this morning. Could I have sleptwalk? How likely was that, given that I had taken a sleeping pill?

I hit the stop button on the tape deck. A sick feeling overcame me. My mind could not rationalize this quickly enough to soothe me. Something was terribly wrong.

And it only gets worse from here!

As I sat in the little video editing suite, Dave, a coworker, came in and asked if I wanted to go to lunch. I must have looked ghostly white, because he immediately asked if I were all right. I just told him that I had a lot on my mind. Another coworker, James, also came into the room ready for lunch. I just wanted to be left alone.

While they were discussing lunch plans, I had a quick inspiration. Maybe the older gentleman at the Dal Cuore Italian Restaurant knew something. It was a long shot, but I had nowhere else to turn. Besides, Theresa chose that restaurant, and he had watched me throughout, so maybe he expected to see her with me. So I quickly interupted their little debate and said we should go Italian and eat at Dal Cuore.

Dave and James just looked at me for a second before Dave laughed. I will never forget this part...

He said that would be hard to do, since Dal Cuore has been closed for nearly three weeks! He asked me if ever read the papers. (I didn't.) I started to protest and was about to say that I had eaten there last Sunday, but before I could, James added that the owner committed suicided and they had shut it down.

And it clicked into my brain. I turned my back on them, minimized the video editing software, and searched online for the obituary.

Vittorio Tabellini. Age 72. Death by self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

And I recognized the photo immediately.

My sense of santiy was screaming for help. I told my Dave and James that I had to go and ran from the office, ignoring my boss calling my name from behind me. I could not - cannot - deal with anyone right now. No one knows what has been happening - Not even me!

My first instinct was to drive to Dal Cuore and see for myself if it were closed, but I just wanted to go home. I wanted to get away from the outside world for awhile and try to process all of this. I'm still in shock now as I am typing away, documenting what might be my last days alive. I just don't know...

At first, I felt a brief sense of relief as I pulled into my driveway. But as I got out of my car, I noticed a package leaning against my door. As if in a dream, I walked up to it and picked it up. It had no return address - Just my mailing address in Theresa's handwriting. I stumbled into my apartment with it, quickly locking the door behind me.

I look at the breakfast table. Theresa's book wasn't there. I ran into the spare bedroom, checked the chest - Still no book. So I carried the package out back into the living room and opened it. An old book fell out, the corner landed directly on my left big toe. Déjà vu was nothing compared to this experience.

And so hours later, sitting alone in a darken apartment, no lunch or dinner, ignoring all phone calls, and trying to enjoy a few shots of Johnnie Walker, I am logging this experience, not knowing what to do next, not knowing what to think. My "victimhood of the Hollywood hysteria machine" theory no longer comforts me.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

A Package Arrives

For two days, it seemed as if the brief aberration in my routine during the weekend was behind me. No more strange dreams, no more bouts of paranoia, and no more thoughts of Theresa. The ordinary, mundane stresses of my life took center stage once again; The deadline for a video project at work (a tribute program for a retiring college president) is beginning to loom ever closer, and I still have volumes of archival footage to scour through. And so that is how I spent my day.

However, the normalcy of my day ended once I returned home. Leaning against my front door was a medium-sized postal box. There was no return address, but the section addressed to me was clearly in Theresa's handwriting. For reasons I still do not understand, I had a sudden, irrational urge to quickly toss the package away unopened. I never behaved so childishly or cowardly before when I used to associate with Theresa years ago, so I have no explanation as to why these unsettling impulses have gripped me so much since her call last Saturday night.

Once inside, I opened the package, and an old book fell out, the corner landed directly on my left big toe. Cursing to myself, I picked up the book and put it on the table in front of me. I looked through the rest of the packing materials to see if there was a letter included but nothing - only the old, musty book.

I skimmed the first few pages of the book. I could not make sense of the writing at all. It was a script that I have never seen before. I will be the first to admit that I am no linguistic expert, but I am familiar with various alphabets and character sets from both foreign and ancient languages - I have been exposed to several cultures from all the stock and archival footage I've had to search through over the past few years working at a video production house.

But one thing I knew for sure - This book was either a religious or an occult tome of some sort. Theresa (full name Theresa Kirchner) is (or at least, was) a researcher and lecturer on rare and unusual religions, strange occult practices, and paranormal research. Interestingly enough, she was completely skeptical on the subjects that she lectured. Although more of an agnostic than an atheist, she never performed or believed in any of the topics she researched. She was more of a historian or a documenter on these esoteric subjects - At one point, we even discussed creating a documentary on some of what she discovered.

But as for now, it is me, all alone, flipping through a cryptic book with rather artful illustrations throughout: Lots of strange, intricate geometric shapes, depictions of overlapping galaxies, and mirrored images of humanoid portraits.

As I turned a page, I saw scribbled in Theresa's handwriting, "EXPONENTIAL DIVISION - AWARENESS FOLLOWS," in large letters.

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was another hangup call - The first one since Monday. I could now sense my paranoia returning, so I put the book back in its packaging and placed it in an old storage chest in the spare bedroom.

I don't have time for this silliness now. It's nearly 7:30pm, and I still need to do laundry before going to bed.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Unwanted Dreams

Today has been a bleak day for me, and all because of the strange dreams I had last night.

My restless night was filled with unsettling dreams of the older gentleman I saw in the restaurant yesterday and of Theresa. The impression I had in the dreams was that Theresa was desperately wanting to tell me something but the older gentleman somehow kept her from communicating with me. The whole mood was omnious and dark, yet I cannot for the life of me remember any specific details of the dreams.

Twice today I had hangup calls - Each time I had thought it might have been Theresa calling me back. I felt my heart race each time I answered the phone. I think I've just been under too much stress, what with work the way it is and the illnesses of two of my closest friends.

I feel like I am just being silly, letting my imagination get the better of me. Probably in a few days, this feeling will pass, and I will be back to my normal, apathetic self. There is some sense of security in being stuck in a rut sometimes.


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