The Fleshy Book

Seven Days: Log Four

Seven Days: Log 4

Log 4

Thursday, February 20th

Day fricken four. This one, I don’t even have the energy to complain about this. I know. I should be happy this is already half way over, but I’m not. I’m dreading what’s next. This is starting to become way too much for me. At first, it seemed bearable, but now? It’s not even close.

After last night, I wasn’t in the mood for going to school so I lied to my parents, telling them I felt ill. I’m nineteen so they didn’t really bother trying to make me go anyway; it’s my life after all.

I was still a little edgy and pissed from last night so I was pacing my room for a very long time. I knew I needed to try contacting the freak responsible for all of this but doing that in a pissed off mood wouldn’t help me. I needed to calm down. So after about an hour or so, I managed to breathe normally and put myself in a somewhat stable/not pissed off mood, to contact him.

I sat back down at my desk, logged on to my computer, and opened the Creepypasta page. I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms and waited for a dialogue box to appear. As I did, I kept going over in my mind about what I would say to this thing when it chose to show. Would I start yelling and screaming at the freak for bringing this on? Would I keep a cool head and try to probe this thing for what would be coming next? Or would I just be too numb to say anything?

I was about to find out.

After about twenty minutes or so, the monitor finally beeped and that all-too-familiar black text box formed.

Oh, goody. I silently crossed my arms, still waiting for the freak to say something. For the longest time, the box remained empty. The cursor blinked over and over waiting for text to form. It reminded me much of the first day all of this started, I’d been waiting for words to come then too.

Ten more minutes passed, and then text steadily began to form.

“Are you going to sit there? Or are you going to speak?” It asked.

I didn’t answer, I continued staring at it.

“Very well then, remain silent. I have no trouble with that. A silent audience always hears more than a talkative one.” It went on, “I very much enjoyed last night’s little piece. Your attempt to find a friend in all of this was, while pointless, very touching.”

My arms tightened against my chest, my eyes narrowed.This guy doesn’t need to remind me of last night. I still didn’t say anything.

It continued, “You handled the situation in a semi-controlled manner. You were not as afraid as the first night this story began, but still failed. You were doing so well too, up until the end. You did not learn your lesson from the first night it seems.”

Oh, jeez! Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. I still kept my mouth shut.

“Hmm…And judging by your blank face and lack of reaction, you are no longer caring about any of this?”

“Correct.” I lied. I fully cared about the whole situation. I was only acting like this to make him reconsider sending me another “visitor”. My reasoning: You can’t have a story where the main character won’t participate/care what happens next. What would be the point of reading a story where the protagonist didn’t respond to anything?

“Well then, we will have to make you start caring again. Hmm…Perhaps sending tonight’s visitor to your friend’s home would make you care; which also means, unlike you, if he dies he will not have a second chance. But that is acceptable. And if that fails to motivate you, then we can just send the next visitor to see your parents the next night.”