4077212's Journal, Part I

The following is one of three of patient 4077212's journal entries made shortly after release from Northwest Medical Center. Given to us by 4077212 herself after contact was made between her and us thanks to the nurse that sent us the original case file excerpt. The entries cover 4077212's stay at NMC during her observation period as well as events leading her to contact us. We here at the Slender Man Chronicles have only made changes to any names in order to protect the identities of those involved. In the interest of brevity, we will be posting them one at a time. Read about her first night in the NMC after the jump.

December 3, 2009

Dr. Lee told me I should keep a diary after what happened the night before Thanksgiving. He gave me a copy of my medical records, too. Night terrors? What a crock. I wasn’t asleep yet. I know I wasn’t. So why am I listening to him? I don’t know. I think maybe I just need someone to talk to who will believe me. Even if it is just my computer screen.

They made me stay for three days. ‘Observation,’ they called it. I don’t know what they were supposed to be observing. They put me in a plain white room with two twin beds in it. The other was occupied by a black-haired teenage girl who looked like she hadn’t eaten or showered in who knows how long. All she did the whole time I was there was sit cross-legged on her bed, staring at her knees and biting her thumbnails till they bled while rocking back and forth. She never spoke a word to me, and for that I’m grateful.

I went to one of the ‘group’ sessions they wanted me to go to in the afternoon. Everyone there seemed suicidal or depressed almost to the point of suicide. That isn’t me; I love life. I couldn’t understand how this was supposed to be helping me, so I didn’t go again.

I didn’t sleep the first night. At first, I thought I was getting over what happened the night before, but as the light coming through the windows dimmed, I began to get uneasy. It only got worse as less people walked the hall, and worse still when the nurses dimmed the hallway lights and sat chatting and shuffling papers in their little Plexiglas cubicle. When the dark-haired girl in the bed next to mine moused under her blankets and turned to face the wall, I was completely alone with my thoughts and memories. My terrifying memories. What was that thing? Where did it come from? What did it want? And why did it touch me, only to run away?

            The next day was very different. I sat in the commons area all day, zoned out on the TV. At least the couch was soft, because the bed sure wasn’t.  I had to know what that thing was. I couldn’t be the only person who’d ever felt or seen it.

When lunch was served, I stayed on the couch. Maybe it was two sleepless nights; maybe it was everything that had happened; whatever it was, the thought of food made my stomach turn sour. One of the nurses brought a tray of food and sat next to me. I couldn’t figure out why she looked so nervous, glancing around as she tried to talk me into eating. Until she met my eyes and whispered that I didn’t belong there. I looked around, and we were alone. She whispered that she had read a few things. That she knew a place where other people talked about experiences similar to mine. People who were awake when it happened. People like me. She said she was picking up extra hours that night and she’d come see me later. She told me to eat, then she left.

With even more to wonder about, the day seemed to drag on forever. After the lights were dimmed and most everyone was asleep, I laid in bed thinking again. Trying not to think, actually. Until a shadow filled the doorway and I about hit the ceiling. Thankfully I couldn’t find my voice to scream. It was her. The nurse. Dear God, what was she thinking?

She sat on my bed and whispered that she had sent my story to these people she had told me about, but that she hadn’t heard back from them yet. Understandable, she told me, since she sent the message on Thanksgiving and she had been working since. I didn’t care about the circumstances, I was just happy that she believed me and said she knew of others who would too. I couldn’t wait to talk to them. She said she got my contact information from my file and would call me as soon as she heard anything.

That was  Friday night. Six days ago. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. I’ve been home since Monday. I’m beginning to think she’s not going to call. I doubt if she even really believed me. Maybe she gets some sick kick out of playing with the patients. I don’t think it was very fun.

So here I am, keeping a diary … just so I can talk about it. Nothing else has happened. But I’m still afraid at night.

-J