Chapter 1: Masked

I swear to God, my insomnia is getting worse. I've pulled all-nighters before, sometimes for days on end, but not once have I ever passed out in school. Luckily, it was the last period right before summer break started. Originally, this class was supposed to be a film study elective according to what I was told last year, but nobody told me that the teacher was a religious nutcase and turned this class into a bible study. She wasn't here, so it was practically a free period. Surprisingly, I fell asleep about three minutes into the period. I don't fall asleep in class, and my nightmares don't happen like this.

It started out the same as it usually does. I'm back in my old home, staring down the hallway. I'm holding onto the doorknob, desperate to open it while that bastard slowly stalks his way towards me. This time, it wasn't him at the end of the hallway. It was someone who I've never seen before. Hell, I don't think it was even meant to be human. 

The thing stayed at the very end of the hall, just staring me down. The only thing I could make out on its face were its blue soulless eyes. It kind of looked like a mask, but I'm not sure. It was slow, and it felt agonizing while I watched it stalk towards me. It said only one thing to me.

"You've lost once before, Sam. You'll lose again."

"What?"

"Get up, Sam."

"What are you...?"

"Sam!"

I felt my body jolt upright as a hand shook my shoulder roughly. It took me a second to adjust, but my best friend Jodie was the one shaking me awake. At least it was her and not the teacher. My mind had completely forgotten where I was for a few seconds.

"I'm up, I'm up." I mumbled. "God, you have an arm." 

"Damn right I do." Jodie rolled her eyes. "You still owe me lunch."

"Yeah yeah, I know." I rubbed my head. I almost forgot about that. Jodie's been my best friend for years, so I'm surprised she's not asking me anything. Honestly, I'm glad she isn't.

"You never fall asleep in class. You feeling okay?" Jodie asked, leaning closer to me. Her pink hair, which she had braided in the day before, swayed in front of her face.

"Never better, thank you." I forced a smile and reached for my backpack that lay next to my desk. I guess she heard the sarcasm in my voice, though.

"Uh huh." Jodie frowned. "Have you been getting sleep?" I know she's just worried about me, but I can handle myself.

"Yes, thank you." I tried to change the subject. "Where do you wanna go?" 

"Smart man." Jodie chuckled. "I'll get it outta you eventually. Let's just get some fast food."

"Sounds good, then." I slung my backpack over my shoulder, then followed her out of the classroom. "Still don't know how you still have an appetite after forensics."

"Can't a girl be hungry?" Jodie replied as we exited our classroom.

"Whatever."

***

The fast-food joint was more of a kid's place. I used to go here with my parents sometimes when I was a kid, but that stopped after they died. It took me a while to even go near the place after the break-in. PTSD honestly makes life difficult, but what mental problems make it easier? 

"So, you gonna tell me about it?" Jodie asked as we sat in the corner booth. I looked up at her, surprised. "You had a nightmare. What's it about?"

"Just the break-in." I sighed. Jodie knew about the break-in and that my parents are dead. I've known her since preschool, of course she knows. "But..."

"But what?"

"It... It was different. There was someone else there." I took a deep breath. "I don't think it was human... Its fucking face was just... fuck."

Jodie looked at me seriously. "It wasn't the guy who did it?"

"...No, no, it wasn't. That's the thing that's bothering me." I put my head in my hands and groaned. "I thought I was getting better, but I think I'm just getting worse." I leaned back against the seat and ran my fingers through my hair. I hate this, I really do.

"Recovery's not linear, Sam." Jodie reassured me. "You're gonna have situations like this."

"Trust me, I know." I replied bitterly. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Get home safe." Jodie got up and hugged me. "Get some sleep over break."

"Thanks," I smiled halfheartedly, returning the hug. "See ya later, Jodie."

I left the fast-food place and began walking to my bus stop. I don't drive, and the walk back home would take me forever. Also, I need the time to think. I really feel like I'm going crazy. My nightmares have always been the same. Why did they change now? Did it have something to do with the recent murders? My uncle was the one who took the case on, and I've seen the crime scene photos, but it was a stretch. Either way, I don't think this is normal.

As I pulled my student card out of my wallet, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around to see a familiar face. I recognized him, but I don't remember his name. He was one of the officers that worked under my uncle at the prescient. He was one of the lower ranking officers if I remember correctly.

"Mr. Zaveri." He greeted me. "How are you?"

"I'm... alright." I replied hesitantly. "What can I do for you Officer?"

"Actually, I need you to come down to the station." He paused, giving me a look. "For questioning."

"Questioning for what?" I raised an eyebrow, curious as to why he didn't want me to go home. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's fine, kid." He assured me. "You just have to come down."

"Okay...?" I followed him, walking alongside him. "What's going on?"

"We had an update in the Painted Faces case." He explained. "Got some eyewitness accounts and... You're the last one."

"Alright." I nodded. They must have found another lead.

"Trust me, it'll only take a few moments."

I sent a quick text to my uncle letting him know that I'll be a little late coming home, then got into the backseat of the police car. It would probably be only an hour.

***

"You're accusing me of being the killer?" I asked incredulously. We were sitting inside an interrogation room. Officer Johnson, the officer who brought me in, chuckled at my reaction.

"You can see the evidence, kid." He gestured to the files scattered across the table. "All of this? It all points to you."

I narrowed my eyes. It's impossible. I haven't done anything. There's no way that any of this was real.

"Actually, I have reason to believe that you're also responsible for the double murder almost six years back."

"Wha..." I blinked, confused as hell. "Why would I...? How...?" I didn't want to believe what he was accusing me of. "Are you saying I'm my parents' killer?"

"Well..." Officer Johnson shrugged slightly. "The guy we caught for that pleaded guilty, but it was a false confession."

"False confession?" I raised a brow. "That's bullshit!"

"Is it? Or are you really the one who did it?" Officer Johnson shot right back, leaning close to me. "Because I'll tell you one thing: I think your little 'molested by the babysitter' story is bullshit too." 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. A whole year, I was afraid to tell my parents what that sick fuck was making me do. After I thought he was finally gone, he broke into my home, tried to take advantage of me, and killed my parents when they tried to stop him. I could've been raped or killed that night, but I survived. But I was threatened by his family. His brother stalked me, and that's the reason I don't ever want to be in a relationship again. 

Now this guy is accusing me of making it all up? "You believe him?" I muttered. "Justice system's a fucking joke." As soon as those words left my mouth, I felt a sense of dread.

Officer Johnson slammed his palms against the table, making me jump. "You know who says shit like that? Criminals! Fucking criminals!" He yelled. "You've been lying your entire life, you little scumbag."

This cannot be happening. No, God, please, please let it not be happening.

I felt him grab my chin and force me to look at him. Almost instantly, my vision started to fade and my breathing became unsteady. "Get off me." My voice came out more threatening than I wanted, but I felt weak. Honestly, I felt like I was going to pass out.

He slammed my head against the table violently, and I fell out of the chair and onto the ground. Pain rushed through my skull and blood dripped from my nose and lip. A cry escaped my throat as I held my hand to my bleeding nose. The room was spinning and I felt my vision cloud as my blood covered my hand. The metallic taste burned my lip and tongue and I could've sworn that my hearing faded into just a high pitched ringing. "That'll fuckin teach ya, you little shit." I could barely hear the officer over the sound of my own heartbeat. Was it always this loud? Why did it sound like shouting?

I don't remember what happened, but the next thing I do remember is someone sitting me up straight holding my head forward. My vision was too blurred to make out any faces, but his voice sounded familiar. It kinda sounded like my uncle's friend, Andrew. Weird. He moved out of town last year. Was he back for something?

"Deep breaths, spitfire. Don't spiral." Yep, definitely Andrew. The one thing that I preferred about him over my uncle is that Andrew never tried to sugarcoat shit when it came to this. My uncle treated me more like a scared child or a weak animal whenever I had a panic attack. Andrew didn't. He's also the one who talked my uncle out of forcing me into the exam during my parents' murder case.

"Good news: his nose isn't broken."

"You're so fucking lucky, Johnson."

"Chief, C'mon, I was just-"

"Cut the bullshit, Johnson! I told you to drop this 'lead' the moment you brought it up!" That was clearly my uncle's voice. "The forged evidence, the false confession, and now this!?"

"Sean, you-"

"You better pull your fucking act together, Johnson. If you don't, not only will you be getting the fucking slip, but your ass will also fucking be behind bars if you pull this shit again. Do I make myself clear?" 

"Yessir." My vision slowly returned to me as I watched Officer Johnson leave the interrogation room like a kicked dog. It was almost cathartic in a way, watching the asshole skulk out the room. Still not worth the nosebleed and possible concussion, though.

"Sam, are you alright?" My uncle leaned against the edge of the metal table; concern written on his face. Andrew helped me back onto my feet.

"I'm fine, Uncle Sean. Just... my head hurts."

"Your face is bruised and covered in your blood." Andrew pointed out. "And you're most likely concussed, spitfire. How the hell'd this happen?"

"...I don't wanna talk about it." I didn't want them to worry. It was nothing, really. It's my own fault, anyway.

"Sam-"

"Don't push him, Sean." Andrew cut him off quickly. "It'll only make it worse."

"Can we just go home?" I sighed quietly, trying to hide the fact that everything hurt. I felt defeated. Tired, even.

"It's probably best you get your head checked out first, but I don't blame you." Andrew reassured me. "If your uncle starts going detective mode on you in the car, text me, OK? I'll sort him out."

"Will do." I smiled faintly. Andrew chuckled, much to my uncle's dismay.

"Great. I gotta get back to the shop. See you two tomorrow." 

***

The ride home from the station was quiet. Painfully quiet. I could feel my uncle's gaze on me as I stared out the passenger seat window. I didn't want to think about today anymore.

"Sam? You know you can talk to me, right?" My uncle glanced at me, still focused on the road. "You don't have to be scared to tell me anything."

"Would you even believe me?" I asked quietly, staring down at my hands. The cuts along my hands were already healing, but they were still tender. Barely six months. 

"Sam, I've been a witness to many things you can only imagine while on the job. Believe me when I say that it takes a lot to doubt a story."

"If you're gonna start interrogating me, I have Andrew on speed dial." I mumbled, still looking down at my hands.

My uncle let out a chuckle. "Oh, I know. He did it to me when we were your age." He paused. "But that's not the point. I just... Bottling it up isn't healthy at all."

I didn't look at my uncle. "It... It really fucked me up, Uncle Sean." My voice cracked a bit. "That bastard's face haunts me, and... Fuck, I just... I hate it."

A long pause followed after my sentence. 

"Sam, I'm going to ask you this once and I need you to answer me honestly, alright?"

"Okay." I nodded weakly.

"That night, were you sexually assaulted?"

I flinched. It was more than that, but I never told anyone what happened that night when he broke in, only the situation leading up to it. I didn't want to talk about it. I hated how the memory of that event haunted me even now, how it sent me into an episode every time I remembered it.

"How do you--? No, no I wasn't." I shook my head vigorously, forcing the images of that awful scene to the back of my mind. "No way in hell I would..."

"Then what happened?"

"I... I--I can't remember." Lying wasn't easy when you didn't want to talk. It makes me feel vulnerable. Not wanting to answer the question, I turned away from my uncle and faced the window.

"What do you mean you can't remember?" This time, it was my uncle asking the questions.

"I... I don't want to talk about it." I whispered softly.

After that response came another silence between my uncle and I, and I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face. "Sam, this is important. You can't keep--"

"The hell I can't." My heart pounded in my chest as my voice grew louder. "I don't want to think about the bastard at all anymore after everything he did to me, and then the prick Johnson accuses me of making it all up!" I couldn't help the anger and fear rising inside of me. "That bastard's family threatened me when the case was first heard, Uncle Sean."

The look on my uncle's face told me everything I needed to know. He never knew this happened. 

"Jesus Christ, Sam... You should've told me, I would have done something about it. There is absolutely no reason for you to deal with him by yourself. And you know that." 

"I know."

As my uncle pulled into the driveway, I grabbed my bag and got out before my uncle even stopped the car completely, shutting my door loudly as I did. I ignored my uncle calling my name as I walked past him and went inside. I headed upstairs to my room and plopped myself down on my bed. My mind was reeling and I needed a distraction. I opened my bag and pulled out my sketchbook and just began sketching. Nothing special or specific, no rhyme or reason. Just senseless scribbles. I wanted to forget about it all for one day, and maybe if I kept sketching I could pretend that it never happened.

That night was the worst night of my life. I don't know why he did that to me, but I just accepted it. He promised to keep my secrets if I kept his. Even as a ten-year-old, I should've seen right through him. He kept the secret from my parents, but at what cost? My parents are dead, his family tormented me for four years, and I lost any sort of childlike innocence I might've had left. All over some stupid little secret. I was weak, pathetic, even. The scars littering my wrists and forearms proved it. Some of them healed, but they only stopped six months ago. Sometimes I'm afraid they'll start showing up again, and that there won't be another chance if I screw up.

I looked at the lines on the page I just filled up. It looked like nonsense, but there was something there that I could make out in the lines and swirls. The music coming from my headphones was blaring, and the only light in my room was coming from the lamp on my nightstand. The charcoal stained my fingertips and the sheets as the image of that night flashed in my head. It was a blur, and yet there was one thing that was too vivid to ignore. 

The pain. The pure, excruciating agony that consumed my entire body, that tore through me as I screamed and pleaded for someone to do something about it. The moment help came... Fuck, I hate even thinking about it. I wish there had been some fucking miracle, like my parents survived, or nobody questioned me and called me a liar. But there was none. After the break-in, I completely shut down. Between the death threats, the stalking, and the nightmares, I'm surprised I actually made it this far.

I looked down at my sketchbook and paused. Maybe I was just seeing things, but I could see that monster's face in the lines and swirls. Now that I'm looking at it more closely, I realized that he looked so familiar. So familiar, yet I can't put my finger on where I've seen it. Was this not the first time I've seen it?

I snapped the book closed and put it on my desk before lying down on my bed. I've had a hard time sleeping for as long as I can remember. I was diagnosed with insomnia when I was seven. It's a problem on my dad's side of the family, so it doesn't stem from all the atrocities that everything else stems from. 

I didn't like to use my meds when it came to sleep, and thank fucking god I didn't. A loud crash and what I could've sworn to be glass breaking made me jolt upright in bed. I wanted to panic, but that would only make things worse. I took the switchblade out from my bag and cautiously made my way downstairs. I peeked into the living room and froze.

It was empty. But, fuck, it was in such dissary that you'd think it's been abandoned for a while. The furniture was torn and tossed around and flipped over, the glass coffee table, the hall mirror, and some picture frames were shattered(so that's why I heard glass break), and, holy fuck, the blood. There was just so much of it. Too much. And my uncle was nowhere in sight.

"Oh God…" I suddenly felt dizzy, and my heartbeat picked up. 

No. 

No, no, no, no, no, I'm not reliving the worst moment in my life tenfold right now.

No, no, no, no, please God no.

I almost tripped over something as I stumbled backwards away from the living room. I looked down and gasped. I saw it. My uncle's gun; a revolver. It was a little bloody, but it was still loaded. It was still fucking loaded. Without thinking, I picked it up. It felt heavy in my hands as I checked the cylinder. Four bullets. Two were already fired. Shit.

Movement from the shadows out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn around. There stood that... that monster. The only things I could make out were its face and its spindly, claw-like fingers hooking themselves around...

No. God, please no. Not him.

I aimed and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and it was gone. My uncle was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, motionless, but breathing. His hand lay limp beside him. I dropped the gun in shock. What was I supposed to do now?

***

"So you saw some freakishly tall skeleton wearing some busted up clown mask in your house?"

"I don't know what else you want me to tell you, Johnson! That's what I saw." Of course he didn't believe me. I could see it in the way he was looking at me. It was clear he thought I was just making shit up. Typical.

"Kid, I dunno what you want me to do." He sighed as he leaned against his car. "You sure you didn't see anything else defining?"

I rolled my eyes and looked away, staring off across the parking lot towards the bank down the road. "...Would a sketch of the guy suffice?" It seemed stupid to ask. If Johnson thought I was lying, how could I prove it?

"Maybe." He replied. "You have one?"

"I do." I muttered. "Let me go get it." I pushed myself off of the hood of the car and started walking back into the house. I could hear Johnson turn to the officer behind me. He was holding a pair of handcuffs. Weird.

I went up to my room and took the notebook off the dresser. I sat down at my bed and stared at the page in front of me. My mind started to wander: I couldn't stay here. Maybe Jodie could let me crash at her place for a week or two. If that didn't work, Andrew would probably... no, he's probably staying in a hotel for a week. Worst case scenario, there's a subpar motel in town I could stay at. Yeah, that'll work. I grabbed my duffel bag and started packing a couple things. Nothing too special; just some clothes, necessities, a few leisurely items. Stuff that'll last me a couple weeks at most. Not much. Just enough for a couple weeks, a month if I'm unlucky.

I finished packing what I needed, zipped my bag shut, and threw it over my shoulder. I started walking towards the kitchen when I heard Johnson speaking to another officer right outside.

"So, are we just arrestin' the kid, Johnson?"

"Of course. It's obvious the kid's a schizo."

I froze. Oh no. I should've known that this wasn't going to go well. Johnson was going to have me arrested for my uncle's attack. I should've known. Why would he not?

I was shaking. My hands were unsteady and my legs felt like they were going to give out. I couldn't breathe. My vision was getting blurry again. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I have to get out of here. 

I turned and bolted out the back door of the house, and moved towards the front of the house. I could hear the officers conversing with each other and I could see my uncle's car. I could take it, but that would open a whole new can of worms. I needed to leave. Now.

I ran out of the backyard and started running towards the bus stop a couple blocks away. It was dark, so I blended into the shadows pretty easily. Once I was far enough and close to the bus stop, I ducked into the alleyway between a bakery and a bar. My bag fell off my shoulder as I slumped down against the wall.

I took my wallet out of my pocket and counted the cash I had. I know I don't have enough cash to support myself through the week in terms of food, transportation, shelter... I'm fucked. Really fucked.

There's no way I would be able to clear my name at this rate. By tomorrow, my face will be plastered all over the news saying that I'm a murderer. Great. I'm now a fugitive of the law.

The bus pulled into the stop and I rushed to catch it. I knew this bus; it would take me right in front of the motel. I hopped on and sat next to the window, and it was then I noticed how heavy my breathing was. I shouldn't be surprised. Officer Johnson had it out for me for a while, and now that my uncle was out of commission, he had free fucking reign over everything, including the Painted Faces case. There's no doubt that there's gonna be a county-wide manhunt for me by morning, but right now: safety. I'm not gonna be caught easily. I'm gonna make it hard for them.

It only took about fifteen minutes for the bus to reach the stop I knew would leave me right in front of the motel. I hopped off and hurried inside without a glance. This place was dingey, and my uncle always told me never to come here even as a last resort. But the place was cheap and unsuspecting. The owner won't mind someone staying.

I made my way to the front desk, where a short, stout middle-aged man with rather significant hair loss was reading through a magazine. As I got closer, the contents of the magazine became clear to me: A Playboy magazine. Disgusting. Really dude, on the clock? 

"Excuse me?"

He lowered the magazine and looked up at me.

"Yes?"

"...Are there any rooms available?" I asked awkwardly. I didn't want to look at this guy.

"Yeah, why? Plannin' on stayin'?" 

"Just a couple nights." I quickly said, trying to make this conversation quick. "How much do I owe you?"

I watched him get up from the chair and move towards the back with the room keys. He picked one up and placed it on the counter in front of me. "Fifty bucks a week, kiddo."

*** 

'Well, there goes half of my money.' I thought as I collapsed on the bed, tired. The springs in the mattress were loud and squeaky with every little movement I made. At least the place was clean; no mold in sight. Right now, it's the safest place to hide from the cops. It's surprisingly cheap and unsuspecting, but who knows, maybe tomorrow morning, the fucking FBI and CIA will break down the door and arrest me, guide me to a padded cell where I'll spend the rest of my days until I get the death penalty via lethal injection or firing squad. Maybe I'd be burned at the stake or hanged like a witch. Or maybe a guillotine. Now that would be a way to go.

My gaze instinctively fell onto my wrists as I thought about my options. There were many things I could think of to do, but they all sounded either impractical or impossible. But maybe there's an easy way out...

No. Snap out of it! Death isn't an option, not after the progress I've made. No.

I shut my eyes and began to breathe. I need to calm down.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. 

And repeat. And repeat. And. Repeat.

It wasn't working. My breaths kept coming out shaky and uneven. Shit.

I sat straight up. I wasn't tired anymore, but instead now wide awake. My vision was blurring, and my head was pounding. I looked around for something to distract myself. In the corner of my eye, I saw a mirror, hanging just above a dresser. I could see myself clearly. I was always told I looked like my grandfather, but I wouldn't know. I never met the guy. My mom always said I looked like him. I have the same curly hair, green eyes, and hooked nose, but that's all I know. And all I know about him aside from looks was that my mom hated him. I don't know why. My mom never talked about it. She never wanted to talk about it.

My hair was a mess. The choppy green patches where I bleached it on a whim faded back to almost a sickly yellow. I hadn't dyed my hair since, though maybe it's a good idea now that I'm on the run. Maybe I should go red this time. Or blue. But back to green would be nice too.

Green. My parents argued over me when I was younger because my eyes are green. Nobody on either side of the family had green eyes. It almost tore the family apart. Until my mom showed everyone a picture of my grandfather. Recessive genes are interesting.

My eyes were locked onto the mirror for a solid 15 minutes before finally calming down enough to move back to the bed and open my bag. The last thing I put in there was my sketchbook, so it was laying on top of everything. I took it out and placed it on the nightstand. I went to take out clothes for tomorrow, but I didn't touch fabric. I touched metal.

My uncle's gun. I brought it with me. How could I be such a fucking idiot? What was I thinking?! How could I be so stupid? Seriously, I might as well douse myself with blood that's not my own at this point. I checked the barrel: Three bullets left. And I couldn't get more ammo without getting myself into even more trouble. Damn.

I sighed and laid back on the bed. This is bad. I really hoped I wouldn't wake up tomorrow and find myself sitting in a police interrogation room. Because I sure as fuck wasn't looking forward to that. 

But, if it's gonna be inevitable at this point, then I might as well try to enjoy this small moment of relief. The calm before the storm, one might say. 

My mind started to wander again. I closed my eyes, but my thoughts were still buzzing. There was still an easy way out, and I could take it. Right here, right now. I had a gun, I had a knife, I had options. I could kill myself right now. Better than going to jail. But I can't. I can't do that. Not yet. Not after what I just went through. 

I can survive this. I need to survive this, I mean. I can handle this. I can do this. I'm not gonna do it. No way. Nope. Definitely not doing that. Suicide. It's still an option...

I shook my head. Don't start thinking like that. If there's anything I learned from the past six months, it was that life is short and life doesn't give two fucks about how you feel about it. You either live your day or you die. There isn't another choice. All you gotta do is survive out of spite.

I felt myself drifting, and I forced my mind away from the thoughts that plagued me. That's when I heard some sort of commotion outside the door. I tried to ignore it, and tried to fall asleep, but then the radio turned on. The static from it filled my ears, making it harder to hear anything else. I got up to turn it off, but nothing was working. I tuned the knobs, messed with the wires, everything. Nothing was working. I even ripped the cable out from the wall, and it still wasn't turning off. What the hell?

It was a news broadcast that was playing from it. An old one. The year 1987 was mentioned. Something like that. Something happened in 1987, I know that much. But I couldn't figure out what it was. I listened, but I only heard one thing.

"-no witnesses-"

No witnesses. No witnesses?

I tried listening to more, maybe gleam more information, but it abruptly stopped. No witnesses. What does that mean? Witnesses of what? And who? What happened? Was it connected to me? No, that's crazy. It can't be. Can it? 

The commotion outside got quiet, now just a hushed conversation getting quieter until it dissipated into nothing. Everything went dead silent aside from the white noise inside the room. I was alone with nothing but a dead radio and a half emptied gun.

My breathing slowly returned to normal after a while, and I sat back down on the bed. I have a deadly weapon on me while I'm hiding from the law.

With shaking hands, I lifted the gun and put the end of it to the side of my head. My finger was on the trigger. I could pull it right now. I could.

A cold chill ran down my spine at the thought. It's not a crime. I didn't do it. I haven't done it. But what if someone comes asking questions?

What if they ask me why? 

I threw the gun across the room. No. Stop thinking about killing yourself! It's not an option. It's never gonna be an option.

The masked monster, my uncle getting attacked, my nightmares getting worse, and my horrifying intrusive thoughts coming back and hitting me like a goddamn freight train. Why was this happening? Which otherworldly bastard was testing my sanity now? Haven't I already been through enough? I didn't sign up for any of this.

"Why?" I asked out loud, staring down at my wrist. "Why the hell is this happening to me?"

The radio crossed my mind again.

"No witnesses." I muttered.

It sounded familiar to me. It was from the 80s, the broadcast. That's when my uncle started working as a detective. It could be a coincidence, but I don't know. Maybe there were files on this broadcast in the station's archive. Just to be safe, I wrote down what I heard.

...1987...October...

...No witnesses...

"October, 1987..." My words trailed off as I realized that the radio turned on again.

"-disturbing...mask-"

Mask? The thing that attacked my uncle was wearing a mask. A pretty freaking creepy one, too. Could it be the same guy from this old broadcast?

The radio shut off again. It was back to an uneasy silence. My head was throbbing with pain so strong and unbearable I wanted to vomit. I laid down again and closed my eyes. Maybe the headache will pass soon. Or maybe it'll get worse. I'm not sure.

My body felt heavy, near like dead weight, and my eyelids seemed heavier than lead. I opened them again and stared straight up at the ceiling. There's no point in trying to sleep now. Not with these horrible images flashing before my eyes. They're just gonna haunt me forever, huh? I thought. That's probably exactly what's gonna happen. I let my eyes close once more and drifted off.