We Are Monsters 🌕 Book 1 || gxg

Sept 9th, 2019 - Jan 7th, 2020

9 Sept

It's raining again. I need to find somewhere better to sleep before my blankets grow mould. The barn was good while it lasted; I still haven't seen a soul on the property. I was planning on going to town tomorrow anyway to scrounge some food. There hasn't been a deer around in days.

The itching is getting worse. I think I'm actually glad I'm out of that stuff; the reprieve isn't worth it.

I think there's a rat in a rotting bale below. I guess I haven't scared them all off yet. Well, there's one more meal ...

10 Sept

Itching is getting better, voice is getting louder. I found an alcove for the night, more searching tomorrow. I'm so cold. My fingers are shaking. I haven't ... [the rest is illegible]

13 Sept

The sweats have almost stopped, and I can finally control the shaking. Still no luck with a proper shelter. There's a building I have my eye on, but it has people living in the apartment upstairs. I haven't had a chance to safely get in.

I like it here, the people are nice. There was a fifth of rum in the alley I'm sleeping in, so I'm doing okay right now. I'll try and find a job tomorrow, even just some choring or labour.

14 Sept

I can't believe my luck. I found an ad for a farmhand, and they hadn't filled it yet. I start tomorrow. There's a room for me and everything. I haven't had my own room in ... gosh, I don't know.

20 Sept

Keeping busy these days, I'm too tired to write much. There's a few weeks left of farm work to help with. They gave me a bed and everything. If it goes well, they might keep me on over the winter to help with the ranching. I'm going to make this work. Having purpose helps me ignore him.

Bill wants me to help out at the farmers market this Sunday. I've never been to one, I don't really know what to expect. Lots of lifting, I suppose.

22 Sept

[The first few lines have been scratched out]

I saw Cora today. I don't understand it, it can't be possible, but I saw her. I ruined a whole crate of eggs I was so shocked. Bill is taking it from my pay. I feel bad for breaking all those eggs, but I couldn't help myself. She must be a ghost, there's no other explanation for it.

It was just after ten, and the market was starting to get really crowded. There were people everywhere and I was starting to get sort of claustrophobic. I had to keep going back to the truck to get more crates as we ran out of other things. Not enough space around the table to store it all. We had a good haul this week. More eggs than I've ever seen. Anyway, I'd just fetched the crate and was thinking about how sore my fingers were getting from all the rough handles when some child shrieked and drew my attention. I never saw the kid, but I saw Cora. She was standing in the sunlight, her hair braided loosely over her left shoulder. It shone warm and brilliant, like polished topaz. She had a basket of vegetables in one arm, and she was talking with the person who sells hand-spun yarns and crafts. I just ... froze. The crate hit my foot; I somehow managed not to swear. But the crash caught a lot of people's attention, including hers. She looked right at me and smiled. She fucking smiled.

Bill tore a strip off me then and when I finally got to look around again, she was gone. She had to be a ghost. Or my imagination. Am I smoking too much or too little pot? Fuck, fuck it, I have to know for sure. I have to convince Bill to let me help again next Sunday.