This morning I wake up to a knock on my front door.
Completely expecting it to be the authorities telling me that they have linked my prints to a string of murder's and disappearances on the East Coast.. Fuck paranoia.
I go to the door and I find an envelope neatly sat on the concrete step outside my front door.
Inside the envelope was another photo of the young girl I watched the skinny one carry off into the woods upon my first encounters. On the back of the picture the letters "Pene" were written in black ink.
Also in the envelope was the pinkie finger missing from my left hand.
Rewind 48-72 hours
As the view counter got ever more closer to the 5 digit mark, there was quite a ruckus coming from the back room of the cabin which I had converted into nothing less than a snug, homely, little prison cell.
There was only one possible entrance to the room and I had been in eyesight of it the entire night.
We hit 10,000 and I know some of you were quite eager to get the pay off started (some of you more eager than the others). So I grabbed a small shaving bag that I like to carry with me at all times. The contents included no personal hygiene products. Rather, A roll of duct tape. Rubbing alcohol. 100 sewing needles of different lengths and thicknesses. A hunting knife. A pair of vice-grips. A straight razor ( which I suppose isn't that uncommon for a shaving bag), a small tack hammer, and some piano wire.
I unlocked and opened the door to the cell and immediately saw Penelope in the fetal positing facing the corner of the room. I started talking to her with no response.
It was unnervingly quiet, I began to question if she was even breathing. I thought to myself.. "That selfish bitch, I've waited months for this and she couldn't even stay living.."
I walked over to her and grabber her by the hair on the top of her head. I pulled her to her feet. Before I had the chance to turn her to face me her body started to convulse.
Her back and neck bent and arched in a way I have never seen a living human being achieve.
I can't even begin to describe, i mean, she had to be dead.
When her neck twisted to the point to where she was to finally lock eyes with mine, I didn't get the flawless features of the Penelope I had coveted for so long.
Instead it was something terrible.
Terrible and familiar.
The white, featureless face we have all began to grow accustomed to was where Penelope's beautiful face should be.
The power to the cabin went down. Then this flash of blinding light came from where she had been standing. I remember hearing the bag hit the ground, feeling something wrapping itself around my left hand over and over and over again.. Then pain.
After that I woke up in a local convenience store covered in what I eventually learned was my own blood.
The cops arrived soon after.
It wasn't until I had arrived at the station and was getting my prints taken that I had noticed my first real physical injury from him.
My finger wasn't so much severed as is was completely torn from my hand. Think machinist type injury, except the flesh around the wound was almost cauterized.
This brings me to today.
I have my finger back. But I'm left with more questions than answers.
Learning to type with 9 digits instead of 10 is quite interesting.
Until Next Time.
It hasn't even been a year since I came into contact with the mother and young child. I watched tallman drag her into the forest. How can she be the same.... This isn't even logically possible. How?