Addendum: Cadejo

It is incomprehensible... what good lies in writing memories... if by the end of the day they will be lost?

Do you really find relief in making public your insanity? As I said before, no one will ever believe you.

I was sent to track down someone. And it happens that I stumbled upon you. So unassuming, looking like any homeless man... but that little notebook of yours was quite the giveaway. I get to say, it is the feat, fooling them like that. Perhaps the only flaw in your plan was that there is no way for an illiterate Australian to write those epitaphs. Nice touch, thought.

"Evolutive", daring, perhaps...  Audacious even. I like the effort you put in triying to fool me, so I would help in making your little journal a bit more interesting. Every time you fell asleep, I would make a few edits... Add some things... And you never cared, perhaps because you already guessed who was the one whispering.

Maybe not right now... Seeing your face when you wake up and find this entry will be worth a laugh or two...

But count on this my friend, I will be seeing you very soon.

I'm buried alive

I got to escape from that foul marshland… and I barely recall what I did next. All I remember is waking up in an ambulance, people saying I nearly drowned in the Hudson River and that my left hand was severed…. I just wanted to die… and they didn’t let me…

I am secluded right now. They say it is for my security… how wrong they are.

I saw him, he was in a church.  He was using a hood and spoke like the gangster; I fell for it… He embraced me; he told me that everything was going to be OK… all that I ever wanted to hear, was said. When I tried to return the gesture, I could feel a huge wound on his right side.

He tightened his hold when I touched his wound... His wound was bleeding water; his hood fell down, revealing a horrible face… it was a sick and disgusting collage of different skin colors, eyes whose shape didn’t match, all manner of scars and birthmarks… all his “trophies” in one body.

Since that day, I ran out of options. They will hunt me down.  The water wants me down. The Nightwatch wants me down… he believes I am the one responsible for his brother’s “malady.” There’s nothing left… except him.

All I hear are his whispers… words demanding me to confess. Sometimes, he changes people’s words, so all I hear are blaming and curses. And in rare occasions, in the corner of my eye… he shows himself, a blurry black creature standing on all four, staining his mouth with my hand’s blood.

I am ambidextrous… but I favored my left hand for writing. Why would he want to cripple me? He must think as the Nightwatch… I’m so sick of being the scapegoat.

There is a mirror in front of me. I see myself, trying to talk me out of it… that he will fix anything… but that he needs me alive to do it. There is a leak in the ceiling… There is even a little girl, nonchalantly drawing the word “coward” with her crayons.

The assassin said that if one of them grabs you, He can’t take you…

He is standing in the corner of the room, an opaque stain vaguely dog-shaped. There are two big red eyes in the shadow, their dark pupils fixated on me. The stare is like a dagger to the chest, but it felt so soothing.

The others are gone… no voices, no scribbling, no dripping… just silence and the dog’s judging gaze. He has a few pages in his mouth; seemingly from them, judging by the use of German and Greek…