Some of you may have noticed my absence this past...has it been a week? I'm not really sure. It's been surreal; time has been passing as if in a dream. The rest of the comic will be posted tomorrow and the days following; I have been delayed in drawing them due to my new hectic schedule.
When I last posted, I was staying at a motel around Larkspur. It was a decent place, but the light switches never worked when I tried to use them. I stayed there a short time only, wanting to stay ahead of my paranatural pursuer. I didn't get very far. I started receiving the "gifts" the morning after arriving at the second motel. Little bags of gore, dead rats mostly, tied sometimes with the sinew of the unfortunate doner. Each one was gutted completely, no intestines. They would be on the nightstand when I awoke. No matter where I fled, they would always be there in the morning. It has been busy moving about, and I do hope you will forgive my silence.
There was a special "gift" today, albeit I doubt it had relation to the holiday. Upon waking, I was relieved to find no trace of a bag in my room. My mood changed when I opened the blinds. As it is February, the trees outside had yet to put on the trappings of spring but they were not naked. The collective intestines of each small animal I had been sent festooned the branches. It is interesting to note that I have not seen him since my unfortunate departure, the details of which I'll present through the comic. Suffice it to say that I did a stupid thing, and...I suppose I'm marked now, not that I wasn't before. But since then, I have had no respite from the oppressive sensation of being watched, especially when I sleep. The dreams are almost too much to handle. I don't want to hear her scream any more, nor feel the long-dead grasp of her small hands at my throat. I've finally refilled my medication. It's a type of anti-hallucinogen that suppresses my dreams and balances out my serotonin levels to reduce the anxiety that causes the hallucinations. I'm not pleased with the results. Everything, wake or sleep, moves at the pace of a rosy fever-dream. I think I've been loosing time. I should call my doctor and see what to do about that side effect...
Today was the day Margot died, ten years ago. I think that was the occasion for the "gift". It was her voice on the phone, and I've been getting calls over the hotel lines...
I think...I think there is something I am not remembering, something buried under a protective layer of ice in my subconscious, something churning just beneath the surface now. Should I try to remember? Is that what he wants? Maybe it's better if I just let it drown in the deluge of years...
It's funny. None of the light switches work here, either...
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