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Diary of the Verdogoth Killer

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Author's note: Note: This story is one my friends wrote based on a film I made. It contains foul language and disturbing elements.

A while back, I got to go to a police evidence locker. It wasn’t as exciting as many would think. Going through one of the shelves, I found a journal. It had several drawings of human faces with hyper realistic eyes. I was drawn to it. Now, I’m not gonna say how I got to visit an evidence locker or how I did it, but I took the journal with me. It took me a few hours to transcribe it. All words are exactly as they appear in the journal. I can’t describe it, you have to read it.

July 2, 2009

I am 20 years old, over a year ago I ran away from my hell of a life. I've been through so much in the past year, but it can't compare to home.

What can I say? There's nothing I haven't suffered and nothing they haven't tried. I used to wear a winter coat to school in the summer to hide my bruises. I remember that constant fear I had, and the moment of dread when I heard dad pull up. Sometimes I'd wished I could have dropped dead there, so I wouldn't have had to suffer anymore, but wishes are dreams you delude yourself into thinking will happen.

I remember that night, two days after graduation. I had been slowly packing everything up, two sets of clothes and my Buck 120 survival knife. It's all I had that I wanted. Three days before, I had just mentioned that I would leave for good and my drunken excuse of a father pulled his pistol on me and told me I should have done it years ago, and starving to death in a alley was too good for me.

I don't like conflict, I made sure I did everything I need to in the dark. I sold some of my books and shades for money to survive on. I thought about selling my knife but I've become to attached to it; it made me feel safe to sleep for so long. It's kinda sad, being attached to an lifeless object like that but I don't care. At least the knife won't make me go to the corner and go 12 hours without food.

I slipped out quietly, my heart was pounding. I walked for what seemed like hours when a car pulled up. A man asked me if I needed a ride. I thought about saying no but I decided if he was some pyscho and killed me, he'd be doing me a favor. I got in and asked where was he going and he said he was from Kentucky and going to Ohio for a vacation. I told him to just drop me off anywhere there.

We rode and talked for a couple of hours and I fell asleep. When I woke up the next day, he was getting gas. I was glad he didn't do anything to me in my sleep. We rode for a bit longer and it was kinda awkward. He dropped me off in front a series of apartments and I rented one with my money. I was two bucks short but the guy took it anyway.

I lived there for a few months; I tried to find human attachments which backfired horribly. It made me more cold-hearted and uncaring of other people. I walked to the library every day; about a 40 minute walk to get on the internet.

I got on topix and saw where some people were looking for me. What a sick joke. If they really cared, why didn't they stop the beatings? One of them knew about it but fuck it, it doesn’t matter anymore. I left my apartment and spent a few weeks in the alley here. I finally found my paradise - a homeless shelter.

So here I am, I lost most of my stuff but I still have my hiking boots and Buck knife. I consider myself dead to my family as I'm sure they consider me dead as well. Sometimes I dream of making friends and finding love but I'm better off alone. It's already over.

I guess I'll just wait 60+ years until I die in my sleep. It's the only thing I can do now. I suppose it's better. I did find it hurtful to spend my birthday alone, but I have to get used to it. Anything's better than what I once called home. Sometimes I still feel the want of human attachment, anything to do with bonding. My mind is tainted, I know it'll always end the same. Them leaving, as I hurt. It'll always end this way.

July 10, 2009

I'm beyond help. Nobody understands me, Even people who have been through what I have. I find it funny that when I was literally begging for help, nobody gave a fuck about me. I was dead to the world. Now that I decided I don't want help, everyone's saying "I'll be there for you. I won't abandon you, I'm different from all the others. I promise." It'd kill me to recall all the times I heard those very words and how short of a time for them to leave like they always do. I understand people want to do well and help me live a good life, hell I want to live a good life, but I can't. I'm drowned out by pain and suffering and Aspergers ruining my ability to communicate properly.

Forget it. How many times could people stab me in the back before I say enough? People treat me like shit then act all surprised when I don't want to go back to their fantasy world. They say for me to have hope, not to leave society. I'm gone from you fuckers. I'm gone. I won't have to watch spousal abuse anymore, nor people letting their daughters worship whores and wonder why they got knocked up at 16 and those who ignore their kids cutting themselves.

I just want to be left alone. I've accepted my fate. When I was a 12 year old boy covered in bruises, I would have loved for someone to have stood up for me, and got me into a loving home. I would have loved to say "I love you mom, I love you dad" every night.

I always dreamed of going to a foster home. But that's a fantasy. In the real world, all families have their problems. Nobody would want a kid with problems and nobody could love someone who isn't blood as much as their own. Now if it were a skinny white girl with daddy issues, everyone would be up in arms to protect her, but when it's a 99 pound 12 year old boy, fuck him.

Well that boy saved another kid's life, even if the kid did grow up to bully him like everyone else; this boy never gave up hope. He always dreamed of finding someone to love him and being happy and free. Then he grew up to become me. Someone who wishes he could take back every nice thing he ever did. Who hates this world with a passion. I am a mirror. You showed your hate to me, I reflect it right back.

I'm writing this as a goodbye. No more. I've dealt with this bullshit too long. I'm just gonna live my life alone and forgotten. It's been so long, I don't even know what a hug feels like anymore. I have nothing left to say, other than a big "Fuck You" to everyone who said they were there for me. You ignored me and treated me like shit.

I don't want to hear a word.

August 19, 2009

I regret surviving every day I wake up, thinking of the pain I've endured. The people I once knew and my family that I left behind. Every painful strike my bullies and father gave me and wonder "why did I survive? Why couldn't I just have stayed down and died?".

I used to keep myself up with thoughts that I'd run away. Far away. That me being born wasn't a mistake and that I'd experience real happiness and find love.

I did run away, only to discover the same blackness everywhere I go. I have nothing left now. I'm all alone. People say that I misunderstand my dad and that he loved me. He pulled a Ruger Blackhawk .44 magnum and aimed it at my head and cocked it. What kinda of love is that?

I've had it. I'm tired of this life. I'm tired of waking up every day in a homeless shelter. I'm tired of going days without uttering a word to anyone.

I'm tired of people online telling me how my life was and giving me pity. I'm tired of everything. I just wanted to be loved. Some days I wake up, I can't remember things about my past. Other days I just want to cease to exist.

There's always that one person who helps us when we are at our weakest. Well, nobody was there for me. It's too late now; I’m far past the point of wanting to be saved. With these stories, at least someone can tell what I was like. They can read my first story and see how full of hope I was back then and how it all went downhill from there.

For me, in a few days time, I will leave the homeless shelter I live at. I'm cutting myself away from this world until I die. People act like they care; too late. If I was 12, it would have made a difference but I'm too far gone this time to care. It's all over now. I accept that now.

August 20, 2009

Today a miracle happened. It was a slow day here at the shelter. I figured I’d take a nap. While I was resting, I had a dream where I was back at home. I saw my mom and my dad, only they looked different. They weren’t beat down or angry, they were accepting. There was a figure there too. It looked like a corpse. It had solid black eyes.

I was having dinner with my parents and my dad was apologizing to me for all the wrongs he did me. Then they vanished. The figure spoke to me; I can’t remember how it said it or what it sounded like, but it said that was the life I could have lived if this world wasn’t so corrupt. When I woke up, I started crying. I couldn’t believe I had tears left to shed.

I’m still blurry about the details.

August 25, 2009

For the past few days, the figure has visited me in my sleep. At first I thought it was a vision, but I noticed something. I haven’t eaten in 3 days. This thing was curing me of my hunger each time it visited me. I still do have to eat of course, but nowhere near as much as usual.

Finally, in my life something good has happened. I don’t know what; maybe God has finally shed a light on me.

Finally, I can rest free from the sorrows of this world.

August 26 2008

Whatever is inside of my mind, it’s no god. It’s a nightmare. Last night it showed me things. Horrible things. I was seeing from its black eyes.

First it was behind a young girl walking through the woods. It was following her for about a minute, and then as she turned, it stabbed her in the shoulder. She fell screaming which was only met with more stabs. The arm I could see was wearing a black coat, so it wasn’t mine.

Why? I’ve had enough shit in my life then this is happening. Who can I turn to? I don’t know what to do anymore. I have nobody to turn to, I need someone quick. The blood looked so real. I almost vomit every time I think about it.

Oh God. The sickness is coming again

August 30, 2009

I have to see a shrink. I must. Every night, the dreams get sicker and sicker along with my decaying mind. I can’t stop thinking about what I see.

I could do nothing but watch as it killed an dog outside a house in daytime. It lifted it up and slashed its throat.

Then it moved on to a swimming pool and crouched down on the end opposite the ladder. It watched as two young kids, a boy and a girl about 7 got and swam around. This went on for what could be hours. At first I thought my mind may be thinking of something good but no. Fuck no, it wasn’t good.

The kids got out of the pool and the figure watched silently. Quickly it moved behind the house, as if going all the way around as to ambush them. When it reached the other side, the boy was inside but the girl was going back to the pool. It followed behind her just like the other one. When she turned, it raised its knife, but she ran. It closed it’s eyes for a few seconds, rendering me blind. When I could see again, it was in front of her and slashed her throat. It then stabbed her body several times. I should be sickened by it, but by now, it was just another part of the dream.

I felt as if I was becoming it. We then moved to the swimming pool. I could see its reflection. Its face was like a rotting corpse. Its teeth sharpened and it’s nose was gone. But it’s eyes were not black, they were bright green. My eyes! They were mine!

I woke up and got this out. I don’t think I'm going to make it. Somebody must help me.

August 30, 2009

(The ink was from another pen, indicating this was later in the day)

I can’t go out. I tried as I felt my stomach ache. I was starving.

The hunger I thought was gone was always there. This thing had tricked me. I quickly got out of the shelter to find food. When I was out at a local grocery store, I saw it. It was in the other aisle. As It moved, bloody footprints followed. I panicked and ran out the door. A clerk tried to stop me for some reason, but I knocked them out of the way. I blacked out.

When I came to, I had stolen a bag of chips and some snacks. I can’t believe it, but I did. Oh God, I can’t go back to that store now. That was the closest place I could walk to for food. I’m fucked. There’s no hope for me now. I’ve been going there for over a year now. I have to take these back.

My stomach hurts so badly though.

August 31, 2009

I ate the bag of chips. I took the other things back to the store and told them I blacked out. I said I never remembered any of it. They didn’t believe me but there’s no point in getting someone arrested over a bag of chips, so they let me go. That was a close call.

August 31, 2009 (Written in pencil)

I’m fucked. For real. I don’t know what happened. I was out walking through an alley when the store clerk approached me. He was off work. He called me a liar and when I tried to explain, he shoved me against the wall. I tried to run but he hit me really hard(my jaw is still sore). I blacked out.

When I came to, he was lying there, stabbed to death, I looked and saw my Buck 120 in my hands. But I wasn’t scared or shocked. If anything, that was one problem out of my life. In fact, fuck him. He wanted to start a fight over something so stupid, he had it coming. The prick.

I went back to the shelter and washed the blood from my knife and I'm here, laying back down. I got what I wanted:

To be free of guilt and misery.

Last Note (no date, but we can assume it’s a day or two after.)

This is it. I’m leaving the shelter. You have given me shit for years, now it’s payback. I see that this was my destiny.

The figure was my savior from this horrid life. I feel great. Nothing can stop me.

Yesterday I went through a walk in the park. It was cold so I stole a winter coat from someone’s room. I went into the woods and saw a young girl walking and singing that pop shit. Without thinking, I just exploded. I walked behind her silently, waiting for her to turn around, and as she did, I stabbed her. I suppose I was nervous. I hit her shoulder first. I felt bad for her, but she wouldn’t shut the hell up. I just kept stabbing her until she stopped.

If you read this journal. Consider this a last request of the former boy who occupied this body. Kill me. Stop me and find out what’s wrong with me.

Until then, I’ll be out there every night, watching and seeing who dies next. For once, I will be the one on top. And you know the best part? During my entire stay in this hellhole, nobody asked my name. Well, they did, but names are just words. Did they really think I’d be stupid enough to use my birth name?

Anyway, remember me and my pain. Remember it every time someone dies. Remember this 12 year old boy screaming for help and remember -

You did nothing.

Since the recovery of this journal, 12 people have been found stabbed to death. Some in their houses, others walking alone. The author has never been found. God knows where he is or who’s in danger.

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