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Pick up the Phone

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March 30th, 1989

My dreams seem so real. This man waits for me so calmly, every night. I am afraid to rest, in fear of meeting that freak again. He is the same every time. Just one man, masked or possibly mutated, sitting on a couch, waiting for me to open the door and walk on in. He never tries to attack me. He is calm and collected. He is the killer though. It rots me from the inside to look into his face and to be able to tell that he has had to kill people before. He is no stranger to a gun and I fear that I won't be one either soon. He never lets me talk. He tries to teach me some bullshit morals, or something, and then I wake up. Every fucking night. This has to end. I have to do something about this.

April 1st, 1989

I moved out of my old home into an apartment in Central Miami. I am hoping the confusion will flush out these reoccurring dreams. The janitor talked to me today. Handed me a form asking if I was true to my country. If I was willing to die for my country. He handed me a piece of paper. My eyes scrolled across the top, and all I noticed was "BLESSINGS". I assumed that he was some sort of religion pus her, but I read it again. He was offering me access to some service and I thought about it.

I noticed, that if these dreams persist, I will be unfit for ordinary life here in Miami. I would become a serial killer or something! I just want it to stop. I was ready for anything. I actually wish I was killed for my country so these bullshit dreams would stop fucking haunting me! It drives me fucking mad! They never stop! He doesn't let me say a thing! All I fucking want to say is "Why are you wearing that mask!" But no! He is inside of me, triggering some sort of reflex and slapping me awake!

But, I digress. Back to the janitor. He had shaggy long hair, and barely had a moustache. I signed the paper, and with a grin he whispered, "We will contact you soon." and then he was gone. Had to do a double take to realize that bastard just disappeared. I am wondering if he was an April Fools joke, or  just another dream, like the motherfucker in the mask.

I feel a connection to the man in the mask, though. I guess since he's my dream, he's a part of me.

April 2nd, 1989

Untitled-1

The picture I left on my desk.

I am assuming that the janitor was just a dream, because I have had no contact with him at all. Haven't even seen him. I might be hallucinating, because I swear I saw him outside in a different building, handing some bald guy in a green jacket a paper. But in my dream, there were three people this night. The regular masked man, a long faced woman, and a man in a fancy suit, with bright yellow eyes.

I couldn't hear them. All I could hear was my heartbeat. Everything kind of zoned out, and went 8bit like a shitty Nintendo game. And I thought to myself, this is it! I am dying in my sleep. Finally escape from this pain. But then, the heartbeat stopped, and I woke up. This mother fucker is teasing me. I rolled over in my bed, and it was pitch black.

Something was wrong. I choked up, and a cold rush tore down my spine. I turned around, and the Masked Man was standing right there, in my doorway. I took a picture of that bastard, while falling over onto the floor. I busted up my nose, but I just rubbed it off and wrote in sharpie on the picture "MASK", then hid it under my lamp.

April 3rd, 1989

I woke up to the phone beeping. One new message. From the janitor? I stumbled out of bed and saw the spots of blood on the carpet. What happened last night? All I remember was darkness, and then a flash. I walk over to the phone and click "Play". I hear a short beep, followed by a woman's voice. Not the janitor.

"Hey, this is... Tim, from the bakery. The cookies you ordered should be delivered by now. A list of ingredients are included... Make sure that you read them carefully!"

I was confused, I hadn't ordered any cookies. But hey, free cookies, can't complain about that. I walk outside of my door, and sure enough a small box is sitting next to the staircase.

When I picked it up, it was a lot lighter than a batch of cookies.

I pry it open, and inside is a note.

"The target is a briefcase. Discretion is of essence. Leave target at point F-32, inside the dumpster. Failure is not an option. We'll be watching you.

Underneath the note, is a rubber chicken mask.

The same one as in my dreams.

I feel like my mind is either fucking up on me or I think that this is reality.

Hotline (AFTERMATH)

I slink through the alley, briefcase covered in blood. Shirts are hanging on wires overhead. I kneel down next to a dumpster, and shove the briefcase between it and the wall. When I stand back up, a bottle shatters under my feet.

"Who's there?  I can here you!  I know you're there!"

I sprint out of the alley, and a bum with a baseball bat is waiting for me. I run up and when he swings, I cut under and jab him in the ribcage. He falls, wheezing for air. I get on top of him and smash his head into the ground. He coughs violently. To prevent anyone from hearing him, I take his baseball bat and smash his head in with it. Bits of flesh and his brain scatter all across the ground, not to mention my face. I stand up and drop the bat.

I pull the mask off my face, disgusted with who I've become. I walk to my car, but right when I reach the door, I double over and puke onto the bloody road. My hands are filthy now, I'm on all fours right over top my fresh vomit. I stand back up, slowly yet steadily and wipe my mouth. Scared as hell. But it feels strange... I open the car door and sit down. When I turn on the ignition, the headlights come out of the hood, making the moist road glitter with raindrops. When my foot presses the gas pedal, I think to myself.

"Almost feels like winning..."

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