Day 136

Something's been scratching my chair.
Its one of those fake leather jobbies from a charity shop so I'm
not overly fussed about it but its still bugging me.
I've set up cameras to see if its my cat but nope!
Somehow the scratches are just appearing there...

The scratches are now forming tears in the fabric.
I've given up and done the best I can - throwing a blanket over
the problem and refusing to buy another chair because they're expensive!
Its not so bad now that I can't see them, I mean sure I can feel the
ripped fabric when I sit down but its still in one piece.

A few weeks back, when I was planning on moving so I thought I'd
check the damage, see if it was salvageable enough to sell or repair.
The tears were a lot bigger than I remembered them being.
They weren't just tears either.
They had formed a word.

My name.

I'll admit I panicked and took the chair out to the dumps.
Buying a new chair would be easy enough but I planned to go to
a different cheapo shop just in case whatever was up with that chair
wasn't a single instance thing.

When I got back I found very familiar scratches on every fabric
surface in my flat.
The curtains, carpets, the rest of my furniture, my clothes.
I was really freaked out but I wanted to see what they'd spell out so I
stayed with friends for a few days.

By the time I got back my flat was wrecked, every surface had words scrawled
on it ranging from my full name to death threats to seriously creepy compliments
that described what I had been doing with my friends while I was away.
Weirdest thing was my neighbours hadn't heard anything the whole time I was gone.

It took me a while to work my way around my flat, noting down everything (there
were a lot of repeated phrases) but the area with the most writing was my bedroom.
The only word written there was "hide", again and again and again so, trying to
figure what the hell was going on I went to the places in my room where I'd hide
if I ever needed to.

Nothing in my closet, nothing in my cupboards, nor in the en suite so I checked
under the bed.
It was a tight fit, made worse by trying to shine my phone-light on the slats underneath.
I could only make out parts of it but g-d I wish I hadn't.

The writing was very... descriptive ...
It used my full name a lot and was saying how I'd be killed.
Wriggling to the top of my bed to the uppermost left side I tried to see how it'd start,
I mean I know its stupid to take this seriously but at that point you would too.

It said this would start with the window being broken.
Then the front door would slam.
Then my back would break.

So far everything's fine, I mean I'm in my new flat all settled in, new furniture, new
clothing and no cracks anywhere!
The window is fi- was fine.
My flatmate's sister just tripped over and smashed it.
As my flatmate rushed out to drive her to the hospital he slammed the front door.