Building 8 “Hunters in the Fog”

“They only like to hunt in the mist; on foggy nights when it will be impossible to spot them. There are so many foggy nights around here.

I don't know how I arrived, or even if there was a reason I came here. Could have just been a fluke? But there is something wrong with this place. Also, to think about in general, the tolling of the bell is off by hours; the lack of people, though there are some, hardly fill the spaces.

There is a group that meets. Like a support group of sorts. They help to obtain resources and to reassure that we are real and that we are not just stuck in a dream, though it feels like a dream. That is the problem about fog. There is nothing natural feeling about it.

It interferes with your sight and makes things seem more compressed than they are. All choked together, which I imagine works to their advantage. People tend to just focus on what they can see, and when you limit that, our attention gets stuck.

It’ s easy to sneak up on people like that.

Besides the monsters in the fog, the only thing that seems to be common for this place are the rats. There are swarms of them, though they seem to mostly appear when the testing of the siren happens every few weeks.

I don't feel like eating or drinking. I don't trust any-thing here at all, but I don't seem to feel weaker for it. If any-thing, the desire to even sleep seems to be more based on the fact there is no electricity at night, and less to do with feeling of being tired.

More of habit really.

And that is what makes it hard to not go mad in a manner of speaking.

This place messes with you. Every second feels like a dream, or even a nightmare.

I have had to think of creative ways of proving this is real. Terrible ways...

Maybe this is why I am here...

To test and make myself feel real again.

Did I even feel real before I arrived here? I was in a dark place before I even got here. I was seeing a therapist; trying to make things work with my family.

I feel lost.

Maybe I will hunt again tonight...

It is foggy...hopefully it holds.”

We don't want the burden of our lives. Sure, we want to be part of something bigger, because our day to day lives are just a lot to handle. No matter who it is, personal stuff, or anything difficult. It hurts...I don't know. That isn't fair to say. Not with Margaret.

It isn't about Margaret. Maybe it should be.

I'm sitting at my desk, looking off at the street.

It's unusually warm. The kids take advantage. I hear them shrieking. Some are yelling at each other.

What is my life right now?

What is it amounting to?

My children won't talk to me. After the incident, it has remained that way. I understand that. Hard not to let my ego get in the way. Children need to be away from all this.

Now all I have is Margaret. Without Loyd, there is little left. Just working and coming home. I try to find information on The Surgeon. He is so quiet when he is inactive. It’s like he doesn't exist anymore. Except for me and Margaret. She is getting better all the time, but she shy’s away from my touch, and still has nightmares in the process.

It isn't that way every day, but it happens enough.

I brought her flowers. I forgot she hates flowers. Cut flowers altogether. I need to pay attention more.

I need to pay attention.

Her and I make plans. We have canceled far too many lately. I haven't been finding the time. Something comes up.

It's either her or me.

I'm not sleeping well.

He mocks me. The Surgeon gets away with everything and I am forced to pick up the pieces. Most of the pieces are mine, but I am not handling things like I should. Things get better. They get worse. That’s normal I guess, but I don't feel normal.

I haven't felt normal for such a long time.

House down the street has been condemned. Has been abandoned for a while now. The owner meant to refurbish it, but never got to it. Then he disappeared. Just up and left. Only thing left inside was this tall mirror in the basement.

They found strange burns on the walls and carpets. Even bits of concrete eaten away. Not like fire damage though. More like acid. They can't figure out the source, so they are tearing it down. At least that is the plan.

A lot of plans are made around here; to remove history I think, but they rarely happen.

I feel nervous. I don't know how to let it go.

I'm on medicine again. I know it's normal. Helps me sleep sometimes.

Nothing works for Margaret. We are looking for estimates on sound proofing the bedroom.

We imagine it would be easier than continuing to apologize to the neighbors.

I went back to the factory. Hoping I would find something. Hoped he would reach out again, but it was barren and empty. There was nothing but dust.

It is unusually warm today. Doesn't feel like January.

Feels like that night. I remember so little of that night.

I've started drinking again.