This is most likely my final entry. I am hoping that it will be found later and added to my journal...
Fuck that, I'm hoping that someone pulls me out of this hole. I don't want to die down here alone, in the dark. Even though I deserve it. But I know that eventually they will find me. I can hear them chittering and snuffling from up above. It is only a matter of time.
I have not been able to get a signal on my walkie talkie. My legs are banged up and pinned. Literally pinned. There are two pieces of steel rebar driven through my right leg. I have lost quite a bit of blood but I think that the rebar is actually plugging a hole and keeping me from losing even more blood. I have even considered cutting my own leg off, but even if I had a knife capable of cutting through my leg before I passed out from blood loss, I would be doing good to get out of this hole with both legs. Plus there is a big flat hunk of concrete from the floor across my lap that I can't move. I am using it as a sort of writing desk as a lay here.
I am in the basement of an old house on Chestnut, well actually about twelve feet under the basement floor. At least the foundation is old. Beverly told us that nearly the entire town was leveled by a tornado back in 2003. A lot of new houses went up on old foundations. A busted water main undercut the foundation of this house. I noticed the cracked floor coming down the stairs but did not think anything of it till a section collapsed under my feet.
Dee and I had been looking for a birthday present for Beverly. She has been wanting a sewing machine for quilting. I had found a few older used machines but nothing special. Not many places sell sewing machines anymore. At a supermarket bulletin board we found an ad for a woman offering sewing and alterations from her home. So Dee and I came here.
I would request that whoever finds this not tell Beverly why we were here. I don't want her to feel responsible for this.
The sewing machine was in great shape and I felt it would be exactly what Beverly wanted. So I was gathering up the miscellaneous boxes of thread, needles and other attachments while Dee played with some self propelled ball. It would roll itself around the room and bounce off the walls and other obstacles. I think it was supposed to be a cat toy. I did not notice that Dee had wandered off till picked up the sewing machine to carry out to the Uni. She was not anywhere upstairs or on the front porch. I heard her crying downstairs and went down to bring her up.
That stupid ball. She had chased it down to the basement when it rolled down the stairs. She had dropped the little electric lantern she was carrying and it broke. Paralyzed with fear of the dark and unable to even find her way back to the stairs she had curled up into a ball crying. I came downstairs, took three steps and here I am.
Dee stayed at the top of the hole in the floor and refused to leave. That was when I felt its presence. Dee suddenly cried out "Daddy Help!" and started screaming. I could hear everything as she tried to get away, boxes thudded to the floor causing more loose dirt and a couple of chunks of concrete to rain down on me, glass shattered on the floor. I heard gunshots and more screaming. The screaming abruptly ceased and then I heard a sound like loud slap and looked up into Scratch's dead eyes at the mouth of the hole before he was dragged back. This was followed by a sound like long zipper being opened up fast, and then a loud sucking, slurping noise. I pictured in my mind the dog being eaten by the wraith Jewels encountered, this was replaced in my imagination by Scratch. This in turn was replaced by n image too horrible to put down on paper.
I don't even know why Scratch was here.
That was hours ago. I think there is more than one but can't be sure. There has been a lot of coming and going. I'm sure that when one of them gets hungry enough it will come down here for me. They know I am not going anywhere.
Pastor Tom would be telling me that now would be a good time to start praying, but I really don't see what the point would be now. I completely failed Dee and everyone else. For the last hour I have been toying with the idea of just giving my leg a hard wrench to the side and letting myself bleed out. But the human survival instinct is a powerful thing. As much as I hate myself now I cannot bring myself to rush into that final punishment that awaits failures like me.
It's quite down here. Not a calm and peaceful quiet. More like a waiting and watching kind of quiet. There is the sound of dripping water that just makes one feel chilled just listening to it, occasionally dirt and pebbles will rain down on me from above and then there is the light scuffing of padded feet on a gritty cement floor or a raspy huff of breath.
It's so cold down here.
The battery in my flash light just gave out so I am writing this blind.
Maybe Tom was right.
This entry was transcribed from handwritten notes found later at the scene by Micheal Eastland.
© 2009 R. Keith McBride