These are the final entries on Steven Mcnowitz's blog. The blog was started as a vehicle to chronicle Steven's adventures in searching for other people's junk to find prized collectibles. “America's Heartland: One Man's Trash is Another Man's Ironically, Quirky and Gimmicky Trash” always got a modest amount of traffic... that is, until nine very important days when the world really began to take notice of Mcnowitz's words. These entries were written by Steven in late 2007 and are his last known pieces of writing.
Day 1
I took a wrong turn tonight I was supposed to turn right at the corner of Glenn Road but for some reason, I went left instead. I didn't feel like I was going the wrong way though. I was trying to find something but I didn't know what. The snow was melting under the pale black sky and I really wished that I was at home. Glenn Road became a dead end before I knew it and just as I was turning around to backtrack out of here, I saw a bag. It was lying vacant by a wooden stump which, by the looks of it, used to hold a mailbox. Behind that was a gray house with a light on at the top of the stairs. I slowed down and parked my car against the sidewalk and crept up to the bag, not wanting to be heard.
It felt peculiar to me. I stood in front of what was surely a black compost heap for what felt like an entire wind ensemble performance. My heart raced as I felt my legs tense up and my temples thump. They began to thump at an alarmingly rhythmic pace. One and two and three and four and one and two and three and four...
“You okay?” A gravelly voice called out, jostling me out of my trance.
“Oh- yeah, yeah I'm fine.”
I turned around to catch a look at whoever it was that had knocked me out of my paralysis. I expected, judging from his voice, a chain-smoking old man. I got a guy who looked as if he was younger than me. His voice did not match his bright-orange hair, blue eyes and all-American good looks. He had a strange look about him too, though. His skin looked bleached and faded. A few hues away from being albino. And the rings under his eyes defied his otherwise youthful appearance.
“You shouldn't take that bag, man.” He warned out of nowhere.
“What? I wasn't-”
But he drove off before I could finish my sentence. I stalled on that last 't' before turning back around at the bag. I sighed. Why would I want to talk that bag? And what happened a few minutes ago. Who was that guy? I looked back at the house to see that the light at the top of the room had gone out. They must be calling it a night, I presumed. And I, too, needed sleep. But just as I was about to head home and maybe grab a nightcap, I noticed a piece of paper on the bottom of the bag, in danger of fluttering away into the chilled breeze. Before I could take a breath, my thumb and pointer finger clasped onto the paper. I tugged it away from the bag gently and slowly brought it to my eyesight. Written with practically bulging magic marker, it said: TAKE ME.
I laughed. How ironic. It says the exact opposite of what that guy told me to do. It must be a bunch of old stuff the people in this house don't want anymore. It's practically garbage, I bet. I grab the bag and lug it over to my car. Somehow this feels much heavier than I expected it to. But as I click open the trunk, I tell myself that it'll be worth it. I'll find some hilarious old knick-knacks and junk to spread around the new apartment. Yes, this could be legendary.
Curiously, the items in this bag don't feel all that solid. I expected them to. Not sure why.
- - -
Day 2
Jake's a great guy, one of my best friends. He's oddly tall, has a shaved head of bumblebee fuzz hair and has an unhealthy obsession with keeping our apartment as clean as possible. I shouldn't have been surprised at his reaction to the bag.
“Man why are you grabbing shit like that?” He moaned after I shared the big news.
“It's hilarious.” I replied, lacking any conviction.
“It's gross.” He said.
“You don't even know what's inside!”
“Do you?”
Okay, he's brought up a good point. I haven't looked in the bag yet. I feel like I'm waiting for some sign from above. I'm not a deeply religious person or anything, but I believe that I had had a spiritual awakening as I glanced at the bag last night. It held all the telltale signs of one: loss of recognition, shakiness and, of course, perception loss. It was either a spiritual awakening or I blacked out. And I hadn't had a drop of alcohol last night.
I really don't drink at all, actually. I'm not exactly straight-edge, but I read about the things that shit does to your body and I just can't see why anyone would wanna subject themselves to that. Granted, being drunk is pretty awesome but I like to feel like I'm in control of my life and that I'm not pummeling my kidneys.
And does he always need to use that tone? We're not kids anymore. He's not the junior lifeguard anymore and I'm definitely not the nerdy kid drowning in the ocean. Even though that's what helped us become such good friends, I feel like it's always given him some pretentious unreasonable proof that he is better than me. I can hear it whenever he scolds me for grabbing “useless” or “gross” or “stupid” shit.
You can call me silly but I'm waiting on a sign that I need to open up the bag. I know nothing special is in it, but I want to make the experience as memorable as possible. And it'll stay here. Jake's O.C.D-having-ass is gonna have to deal with it.
Here's a funny anecdote, even though I didn't have a window open or have my fan on or anything, the bag was still prone to the quietest of settlings and rustlings last night. Plastic garbage bags are the worst. I feel like a naïve little kid being scared by some inconsequential bumps in the night. So scaawy.
- - -
So I'm not sure if this counts as a sign or not but I found another piece of paper attached to the bag. It read 'open me...'. I'm not sure if this counts as a sign from above or as a sign that I am not very observant. I'm putting it in the latter camp. I chuckled and threw the slip of paper in the trash.
Couldn't get any sleep last night. I can't keep this bag in my room anymore. I'm gonna have to put it in the hallway closet for now, until I feel like it's time for me to open it.
- - -
Day 3
So after a night of sleep without the bag in my room, I wake up to find that it's propped up beside my open door with a note pinned onto it. Or should I say pasted. The glue or wet cement or whatever it was was still visibly fresh as I tugged it off the bag and it reeked. The note read 'Don't you want to see?'
I know Jake thinks my obsession with this bag is ridiculous but he's the one being weird right now. When I confronted him about it this morning, he acted as if he had not a single idea of what I was referring to. He even feigned concern.
I've been reading all the comments you loyal readers have been submitting and am thankful that most of you seem concerned. As always there are those commenters screaming “FAKE!!” and laughing at the improbability of my posts lately. I can understand that. I wish I could laugh along with you all, but it's just not funny.
Day 4
What crazy dreams I've been having lately. I know I've been talking a little too much about my personal life lately, but I'd appreciate it if you, my beautiful readers, could cut me some fucking slack considering the shit I have to deal with right now. Sorry about that. Anyways, in said dream, I found myself and Jake facing each other in the hallway. He was telling me that I didn't know what I was saying and, truth be told... I didn't. I heard gutteral and indecipherable sounds escaping and vibrating against my lips, only recognizing words here or there. Every noise I made was coated in spit and gurgles. My body shifted into motion and I charged at him with all my might. But no, this was not my might at all. It was as if the heavens were parting and letting free an amazing force from the sky propel and force my body to its limit. I fought back as hard as I could but my hands were headed straight for his throat. As I was at a standoff with my own body, forcing it into stillness Jake tackled me and I suddenly found myself awake. I wonder what this dream means. I don't usually remember my dreams in such vivid detail.
- - -
Day 5
Those of you who have kept in touch with this blog over the years know that I've never been a huge fan of sleep. I feel like It's wasted time that I could be using to discover all sorts of new things. Nowadays, all I want to do is sleep. There is nothing for me to discover out there but different means and shapes of dread and death and varieties of self-harm. Tonight the world is a vampire and I am a cluster of pulsating veins. I want to sleep but I feel like I am doomed to stay awake forever. And I know I'm not the only one who isn't sleeping. I find it in different places every day. I'll go downstairs for breakfast and swear it's moved a couple centimenters. If I dare to leave the house I am petrified to see how far it's moved since I last saw it. It seems to be moving closer to my room.
Jake said he doesn't feel safe living here with me anymore. He's moving out tomorrow. I found this out after waking up this morning at 8am, seeing Jake coming back from what I assumed was a long night out.
“Hey man,” I said, grabbing a bowl of cereal, “Where you been?”
From the moment he laid his eyes on me, he seemed to be reading me in a completely different way. It was as if I eminated a color that human eyes were not yet able to process. He didn't say anything in response. He just stared.
“I said hey,” I repeated. “You just gonna stare at me or what?”
“I don't know what you want me to say.”
“Most people say 'hello' or 'how are you?'” I replied.
“Do you not remember what you did a few days ago?”
Nothing came to mind. The only thing I remembered from a few days ago was the way the dots on my ceiling looked like raindrops caught in suspended animation. I'd been focused on my ceiling lately. I had this realization last night while desperately trying to get a full amount of sleep. But then I remembered my dream. I sat down at the table, un-tensing my neck and letting my face fall in my hands.
Jesus Christ, it was real?
“I... I'm sor...” I began. But I couldn't let that last syllable escape my lips. I felt an odd defensiveness take over my body. There was a faint ringing in my ears and goosebumps sprouted amidst my arm hair. If I apologized, he'd ask me why I did it. And if I told him the truth, that I didn't know why, then I'd look even worse. So I said this.
“I'm just going through a lot right now.”
He sat down at the head of the table, once again looking as if he was trying to look out for me. But I didn't have the energy to resent him for it.
“Look man, I don't know why it happened,” Jake began, “But between this and the way you've been obsessing over the things you're bringing here, I'm not sure I can keep living here with you. It seems like you've really lost the plot. I mean, did you even know what you were doing?”
“Yes.”
No.
“Well, listen man... me and my parents are gonna pick up the rest of my stuff in four days. And if you want, we can take you back to the cities. Help you find the help that you need right now. What do you say to that?”
“I don't need any help. Get the Hell out of here!” I yelled without thinking.
Please don't go. I thought.
“All right, but I hope you change your mind.”
Somehow I feel like I couldn't even if I wanted to.
- - -
Day 6
I will get to answering your guys' questions soon. But right now I have a question for all you readers: Is there a word for daytime nightmares?
Yesterday as I was watching television, my vertebrae began slithering and jerking on its own, bobbing my head up and down. I tried my best to stay calm and closed my eyes to avoid feeling too sick. But I felt a rattlesnake's tail-like tap on my right eyeball and I couldn't keep the discharge inside anymore. My uvula made way as I vomited all over myself and my couch. It looked dark pink, with little chunks of cereal and bread. The stench reeked like a burning farm, the power of shit and un-digested food stung my nostril's.
I ran to the bathroom to grab a towel, chunks falling off my plaid shirt which I haven't changed in days. Leaving a faint hissing sound as they touched down on the linoleum. I grabbed two bathroom towels and rubbed them all over my burning skin. What I saw in the mirror froze me in my tracks. I had become white as bone and dark circles were stretched under my eyeballs. The same dark circles as him. It's all starting to piece together and yet it's still managing to make less and less sense.
Day 7
Still haven't been able to sleep at all. It's been about 3 days since the Jake incident, I guess. Hard to keep track. I have kept the bag in the hall closet and it's stayed there. But I can still hear it shaking and rustling throughout the night. And when I don't, my body starts to get glimpses of how I felt a week ago. That rhythmic pulsing starts banging behind my eyeballs again and for a moment I feel like I'm about to descend and melt right through the floor and Earthly ground into a festering Hell. I am definitely experiencing something spiritually but not in a good way. My skin is burning up so much that my sweat dissolves upon secretion. I've decided that this is the sign I have been waiting for. This is not some holy spiritual quest. It's a nightmare. I feel sick. I'm just sitting here waiting and waiting and waiting and one two three four one two three four...
- - -
I can hear it growing. I hear the mush inside of it whirring about and growing. Becoming more solid. But it's not just making noise. It's attempting to communicate with its boiling fishtank, dying fetus moans.
Being all alone, I had no choice but to finally attempt to open the bag.. I can't seem to bust the knot. It's all full of slime and residue and the outside of it feels rough and scaley. I couldn't get a grip on it.I became vexed with frustration. I threw the bag against the wall. It's gotten heavier, its once invalid mush forming solid muscle. I collapsed, losing all my strength. As it sat vacantly against the kitchen cupboard, I couldn't help but stare. I forced myself up with my deteriorating muscles and lunged the hardest kick I could into the thing. Its melting licorice-flesh at first seemed to cave and wither at first; Then I saw it slithering around my calf. It wasn't withering, it was constricting. I dragged myself away as hard as possible. And then I ran up here to type this.
- - -
I don't know what made me feel worse. When I thought I was alone or when I realized I wasn't.
- - -
I'm through lying awake, listening to my heartbeat fluctuate. It's 4:51 and now is as great a time as any to spring into action. I grab the biggest steak knife I can find. And I can't find the black garbage bag anywhere. I search the kitchen, I search the bathroom, trying to remember if I moved it after the incident I had with it earlier this evening. For a moment, I think it is gone. But then I go into my room.
And it is back in the same place it was after Jake moved it. And it's rustling. And it's swaying. And I can't take it anymore. Now I know I have lost it and do you know why? Because I heard it mimicking my pulse. For a moment, in unison, we were both nothing but a pile of flesh creating a rhythm. One two three four. I lunged at the bag and stabbed it. One two three four. I scratched at it, I pummeled it with all my might and I cried out as I stabbed it more. I couldn't stop. Any semblance of humanity I had was lost in that moment. I stopped to catch my breath. Suddenly I heard the most horrific, ear-curdling scream I have ever heard in my life. It was as if someone had woken up a dead woman with millions upon millions of volts in a rainstorm. My heart exploded out of my chest and I scrambled to my window and thrusted it open. I gripped the slimy bag by its husk and threw it out the window into the outer world. It bellowed its deafening shriek as it fell several stories down. I feel safe for the moment. I think to myself that there is no way I will turn around and see that bag lying against my wallpaper like a macabre prop featured in the final scene of the macabre short film that has become my life. But as I sit here typing these words, I still find myself too afraid to turn around. And my heartbeat has been getting louder and louder. And I know that as soon as I hear it break into its familiar waltz that I must close my eyes and promise myself that I will never open them again.
- - -
Heaven forgive me.
Steven has been missing for the past two years. When his room was searched, all that was left of him were his clothes and an empty, unidentifiable black cocoon-looking specimen. Researchers are left baffled by its contours and scaling and are working hard to figure out what this is and how it could correlate to Steven's final blog entries and his disappearance.
