Summer of '04(Under Construction)

Chapter 1 - How long ago was that?

Good morning, trauma anniversary. It's been 20 years and I don't believe you exist anymore. 20 years ago, I was 15, landing myself in the worst summer a teenager could imagine. That suburbia sense, the safety of the 80's, God was I gullible.

I wanted to be a Sherlock Holmes, impressing my tiny little town with my "detective skills". Yeah, when you suspect a neighbor of murder at the age of 15, maybe you shouldn't go after it.

That was the summer I lost my innocence, my thoughts, and my best friends. Woody was buried in the cemetery once he was found, soon after his mother. Right beside his sweet, gold plated grave. His mother's grave received the same treatment with flowers appearing at their graves every day. From who? We don't know, we think it's Farraday, being sorry he wasn't there, but nobody knows.

Eats followed his brother's footsteps and landed in prison for 30 years, he's getting out in 13 years. Where he might go? We don't really talk about that. He went through alot as a child and well... he misses his mother, but doesn't regret what he did.

For Farraday, well he went off to college in Ipswich which I couldn't do, all because of the history there. He's become a genius and is now studying chemistry and got a pretty good paying job.

As for me, I stay in constant fear in the big town of  Salem. I never left Oregon, I couldn't bare to see it go, so I stayed in a town next door to Ipswich.

Do I still I despise suburbs? Yes, even though I avoid them at all costs, even if it meant my life, I still end up in them. I stare at them like evil eyes, watching me from far away, but they pull me in with a sense of safety, that teenage safety I felt all those years ago. Even if suburbs are trauma central, I'm still attracted to them, before remembering what happened and getting my dreams crushed for the 50th time.

How was today? Today was a day as usual, I checked my attic, and found something strange, the stuff I had up there was slightly moved, a couple footprints, so I checked all my boxes, ALL OF THEM. I wasn't late to work, and all I was able to check was my attic, which gave me some anxiety.

I went to work, checked the attic, they dont have a basement there so I worked 9-5 and returned home. 5 days until the 20 year anniversary of my kidnapping.

I find it odd that I keep count of it still, that I don't ever forget. All my calendars have it marked in bright red ink, no matter what I do, sometimes I don't even remember doing it. It freaks me out but it's a schedule nowadays.

Crap. I forgot to recheck the attic, check in with my neighbors and check the basement.

I checked the house top to bottom through everything, fixed all my boxes, added some tracking powder near the entrance of my attic, did the same with my basement, checked on my neighbors, and then realized my basement was different too. It freaked me out but I was glad I remembered the tracking powder.

That night my brain was awake, bright with thoughts, I couldn't even sleep? I checked all my tracking powder for safety, nothing new, why was I scared?

I returned to my room and stared at my calendar, which had been marked off for today. The day was over. Goodnight to... Why is it red. WHY IS IT RED. I don't remember putting it in red, and I don't have that dark of a red. This is not what I remember, I didn't do this. No marker looks like that, nothing I own has a look like that. Where did it come from?

I spent all that night looking around, tearing my house apart looking for a marker such as that. I checked my whole attic. EVERYWHERE. None of my markers do this. Where did it come from? I grabbed a deep red pen and drained all the ink out. That's when I came to the realization, I dipped my finger in the red ink and made an x with it. This wasn't pen, it wasn't marker. It was blood.

Where did it come from? I checked all the tracking powder, I CHECKED IT ALL. Did I really? Did I check every little crevice for it? Did I use my black light? Did I truly check everything?

Lo and behold, in my attic, footprints on the ladder. Not again? Was he back? Is he in my home? What does he want of me? Is he actually back? Where did he stay all this time? IS IT REALLY HIM. It can't be him? He's 60 by now. No way in hell did he follow me here. No. NO. NO. IT CANT BE HIM.

I didn't go to work the next day, I spent all day installing security cameras in every crevice of my home, not a blind spot in sight. All battery powered, nothing was getting past me. Not even a mosquito. I left my house to go to "the grocery store" only to go to its parking lot and watch my cameras. Nothing happened so I waited and waited until I gave up and got home, grabbed a flash drive, and locked it to my neck. The only way this man would get footage, is to open this very loud lock. Nothing would pass me, I was watching all my cameras at all times. Maybe he had a tracker on me, maybe he had a tracker on my phone. Just in case I bought a burner phone to put all the footage on, all to watch. Nothing would be missed.

I spent that day being nervous, scared, and horrified, as I left my bedroom to check my house only to return with another x on the calendar.