Building 8 “Visit from a Friend”
Over six months I have spent collecting stories of this strange place, and I fear that it is taking its toll. I am exhausted, lethargic, and my body aches. Whatever the cause, I am wishing for the familiar. So when an old friend of mine arrived from out of town, insisting that they see me, I immediately made the time. I imagined that the experience would invigorate me, but all it ended up doing was make me scared. Scared of what I have been doing, and what I am starting to accept as normal.
I have known my friend for a number of years, and have come to expect a certain amount of sugar coating from them. For a short while after the death of my parents I lived with their family, and so I became rather close to them. To this day they may be the most important friend I have. I was...low at that point. Their family stepped up and made sure I wasn't alone. I became used to calling them when I wasn't feeling well and they were willing to offer an ear to listen. They are always comforting, so when my friends arrived the last thing I expected was an argument.
They met me at my house, and shared with them a bit of the dark history of the place. After a short while I led them to the local restaurant near the theater. Soon we were sitting, chatting like old times. They had been working recently at a dentist’s office. It is solid work. Good money. They noticed the pictures on the walls and I began to share the story of the young actress who had mysteriously gone missing near this place. Without realizing it, I began to share other stories attached to the restaurant. Finally, after a half hour I ran out of tales concerning the restaurant and ordered some food. When I looked at my friend, I was shocked by their expression. They looked horrified.
They managed to keep their voice down, but I could notice the concern in their tone. They said that I looked unkempt and sick, that I had lost weight and had dark circle under my eyes. I tried to tell them that I was feeling much better than before, that the headaches had subsided, that I wasn't experiencing the nightmares as frequently. I told them I no longer felt like I was being watched.
They looked uncomfortable, and for the first time in months I saw what was happening to me. I had moved here to try and escape from my symptoms. The main contributing factor had been trauma, extending from the strange experiences I have had. Yet it has been months since my fateful experience at the bus stop and I am still not healthy. I may not suffer from crippling headaches, and I may no longer have the paranoia that plagued me, yet I am still tired, and my sleep doesn't seem to be helping as much as it should.
I tried to suggest that I was just depressed, but my friend had a different theory. They said it was this place, the things I was investigating. They tried to convince me that I was involving myself in things that I shouldn't. There is some truth to it to be fair. I have more than enough information to complete my coursework. If I wished to demonstrate the ability of a community to create stories, their own myths, I have certainly done that. So in the end the question is, why am I still doing this?
In a way this place is now my home. I have...seen things. I have heard things that makes me feel distant from other people. When I am away from this place for long my symptoms return. I know there is something wrong with that, but...I've gone to the doctors, and they haven't found anything physically wrong with me
Since I have begun investigating this place, I have seen and heard terrible things. I have had a conversation with a woman who had minutes before attacked her family. I have spoken with a man who thought something had replaced his eyes with teeth, and then had to endure his death. I have spoken to so many people, with so many tragic tales. I haven't really given thought about the things have been affecting me. I simply assumed that I was detached from it. But this place is sinking into me. I am no longer just some stranger passing through. I am a local, and the look in my friend’s eyes made it clear why that should worry me.
They started to raise their voice. Said that I had stopped talking to my other friends, that I was spending all my time investigating this place instead of living my life. I became angry, telling them that they didn't have any idea what they were talking about, that the work I was doing was important. People need to hear these stories, I reasoned. These are tales that would never have escaped this place otherwise.
They walked out after that. I felt rotten afterwards. I know they were just trying to help, but they don't understand. I wish I could figure out what I should do, but I can't just walk away from this place. For better or worse this place is my home. I have a residence here, and many of the people know of me. The waitresses at the restaurant and the owner of the corner store know me on a first name basis, and though this place is full of dangers I cannot deny the sense of peace I feel here. The only option I haven't tried is therapy...that simply isn't going to happen.
I will call them later, apologize for the bad experience. Maybe try and set up another meeting. Even if I am sick, tired, and worn out, I cannot afford to lose what friends I have outside of this place. In retrospect, The Unknown Author showed similar concerns. I will have to apologize to her as well. In a place like this, it does not do well to alienate the few people who care.
