(TW; Mental deterioration, implied violence and self-mutilation.)

[A call was placed on the morning of March 7th, 2008, to the LAPD regarding a foul odor emanating from the residence of one Raymond Dutch. The Dutch residence had a call placed on it before for a noise complaint, but otherwise no other legal issues of note. Upon interviewing the neighbors, the police were told that Raymond Dutch had become reclusive and paranoid following a robbery at his home while he was away on a business trip. They had filed multiple complaints with the homeowner's association regarding the overgrown, unkempt state of his lawn, garbage bags blocking the windows, as well as a general outward state of disrepair of the home.

After being called, the police arrived and attempted to get an answer from Raymond Dutch several times. They returned with an officially signed warrant, and after once again receiving no response from the homeowner, breached the door and entered the residence. The on-site officers reported a violently sickening odor; some officers had to leave the scene and come back after smearing peppermint oil under their nostrils. The entire interior was unlit, heavily disorganized, and damaged. All perishable food in the home had been rotting for at least several weeks. Large areas of the flooring, both hardwood and carpet, had been scratched, torn, warped, or broken. Several walls were scratched, had holes punched in them, or smeared with waste. 

They found the body of Raymond Dutch in the basement, rigid from rigor-mortis and assuming the fetal position, in a hole in the concrete flooring. Due to the state of the body, the identity was only proven through dental records. It is assumed from decomposition that Mr. Dutch had been dead for at least a week, though the neighbors hadn't seen or heard any activity from him in at least two months. 

The following is a collection of transcribed text taken from around the home of Raymond Dutch. Due to the disrepair of the house by the time police obtained a warrant, many notes are thought to have been lost or were found to be in an illegible/unsalvageable state. Several pieces of text were edited or had additions to it by Raymond Dutch himself; these are present in the transcription to be as accurate a depiction of the state of the texts (when discovered) as possible. Strike-throughs indicate text Dutch had attempted to scribble over, bold indicates later additions (we know these are later additions do to the consistency of degraded handwriting from later notes). For the physical notes themselves, and pictures obtained from the investigation, please refer to Evidence 25869034A, 25869034B, and 26754993A.]

[Entry #1: Dated October 11th, 2007]

My name is Raymond Dutch, and I’m a born-again homebody. I wasn’t always this way. I used to go out quite a lot, socialize, and make professional connections. I used to think people living like this were mentally ill loners, in need of serious help. However, after my predicament, I began to be a little more open-minded. Hopefully, when you people read this journal whenever I get around to making my blog and typing it all up there, you’ll see why, and the benefits of living at home!

It started several weeks ago after someone robbed my home while I was at work. There was a heavy thunderstorm that day; I came home to a shattered window at the rear of my house, floating amongst buckets worth of rainwater on my poor hardwood floors in the dining room. 

Only a few valuables were taken; I imagine due to it being during the day, and the weather, they didn't want to carry too much with them. 

However, I didn’t take too kindly to having my home invaded, so I decided to spend some money on a security system. Basic alarms for the windows, the doors, and a doorbell camera for the front porch. I felt far more secure having taken these precautions; now, if someone broke in during the day, the alarms would sound, and the police would be contacted. If someone broke in during the night, there would be no way for me not to wake up, and they would know they weren’t as sneaky as they thought. 

Over the next few days, nothing of note happened. I was at ease knowing my home was safe and worked my steady nine-to-five in the city without issue. 

Then the alarm started malfunctioning. 

The first time happened while I was at work. The alarm tripped, and I got an alert on my phone. The police should have been called, and I left work early to deal with the issue. I thought it was curious that my house, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, would be broken into twice in a week; but, I had faith that with the added security, they certainly would’ve been caught (or that I’d have evidence to give to the police). 

However, when I arrived home, I was met with a solitary police car and not a single culprit in tow. I still remember the look he gave me. He had a wrinkled, judgmental look on his face. It was like he was irritated just to be there, even though it was his job. He shouldn’t look at me like that. 

I asked if he had seen anything, and his expression didn’t change. The officer simply kept that same LOOK locked on me and told me he had no idea what I was talking about, but that he had to talk to me. He told me that there had been several noise complaints from the neighbors. This was infuriating, because, of course there were! My house had been broken into, and the alarm isn't exactly quiet! The bastard said he’d leave me with a warning, but if he had to come back there could be trouble. It’s not like I’m hosting parties out here. Are you starting to see where I’m coming from? These rat-people aren’t looking out for us when we’re in trouble. Only when we’re providing something to them. My neighbors aren’t calling because they’re worried, but because they think I’m an annoyance. And you better believe that officer would treat me with more respect if I was bank-rolling their fucking armor or whatever they’re always calling me about. 

Then I checked the app. I poured through everything… and there wasn’t a single thing. Of course! Of course there wasn’t. I tried uninstalling and reinstalling the thing, went through every line of support, and no matter what it continued to tell me that not a door or window had been touched, and there was nothing on the camera. 

Do you want to know what happened not even two days later? The same thing. 

Get the alarm. Go home early, again. My boss gives me a suspicious look when I ask to leave early after the first time. Like I’m making up excuses. As if I’d fake a home invasion just to go home. What kind of psycho would do that?

I get home. Check the whole house-- nothing. Check through the app, again. Nothing. I go on a support call with the company for hours and they spew meaningless drivel at me for hours, go through a plethora of potential solutions, and the kicker is I’ll only know if any of it works if it goes off again. 

It happens again. And again. And again. 

My “work performance” is dropping because of it. My co-workers keep giving me strange looks, now, too. If they were in my position, they’d be feeling the same way. Apathetic cockroaches. Sorry if I don’t seem happy to be there, knowing that any minute I could get a call telling me my house is being robbed. I can’t chance it being another false alarm. If it happens, I have to go. I sat in my office, waiting for that alarm. I knew it was coming at some point, it was just a matter of when. 

I busted my ass day after day in this monotonous tedium to keep that company afloat, and they didn't care. They all thought I was a lazy flake. They stopped inviting me out to drinks on the weekend as well, no surprise there. Not like I’d go with them. They never cared about me. If they cared, they’d be worried for me. They’d reach out and try to help. You think they would do that? They don’t. They’re fakers. They’ve been faking it for years. Obedient little machines with plastic skin stretched taught over their twisted faces. Little piggies in a corporate slaughterhouse, marching every day for nothing but to be turned into fucking meat. Whatever. I couldn't care less what happens to these low-lives. They don’t care about me, why should I care about them? 

Unlike them, I don’t spend all my money on expensive dinners and drinks, and useless toys to entertain myself. So, I left. Took my last check, and I could live off what I had saved in my bank account for years. I just need to find a new job now. Stay-at-home work is a thing, now. I can order groceries. No one can snoop around my house if I’m always at home. I should’ve done this the day I got robbed. This is just the smart way to live. Home is where the heart is. 

[Entry #2: Dated October 19th, 2007]

This is what life is about. I’m telling you, people, nothing beats life at home. It’s sort of like being a kid again, but without a mother to constantly nag every little thing you do. You think growing into adulthood means the nagging stops, but your mother just gets replaced with someone new. Always someone holding your chain, barking orders. No one likes bad dogs

But not when you live only for yourself. The neighbors envy me. I catch their stares every day. Jealous bastards have started making complaints about my lawn to the homeowner’s association. It’s my property, first of all; and you and I both know that’s not what it’s about. 

They wish they were me. They wish they could live comfortably at home, safe and sound from the outside world; never having to risk a car accident, or a mugging, or having to work for a boss constantly looking over your shoulder. You know what I did? 

Garbage bags on the windows, shutters pulled. Simple as that. That’ll teach the snooping fuckers. I can get all the sunlight I need when I take my groceries from the door or take a walk around the backyard. You don’t really need as much sunlight as they try to tell you; as long as you aren’t living completely in the dark, you’ll be fine. You can always order some vitamin D pills if you’re really that worried about it, though. 

The Sun is an oven

It cooks my meat and bleaches my bones

The best part about that, though? Night-time. Tell me if this is familiar to you; sitting in your bed at night, you start at the moonlight streaming through the window. Close your eyes… open… close your eyes… open. There’s this pit in your stomach, telling you that the next time you open them, someone will be staring back at you. A stranger, peering at you while you try to sleep. Smiling with malice.

No more of that! I can sleep well each night, knowing no one can watch me anymore. No one to sneak little looks inside, trying to hurt me, steal my stuff, or pry into my secrets. I've never slept more soundly in my life.

[Entry #3: Dated October 25th, 2007]

I made a mistake. 

I think there's something in here with me. 

I can't call the cops. The neighbors can’t be trusted, either. I hear it at night. Little scratches from below the basement. The floor is made out of cement, so I don't think it could ever actually get inside. There's no piping where the sound is coming from, either, so I couldn't be vermin in there. 

Sometimes it sounds like it's punching the floor. Sometimes I swear I can hear a moan. Sweet little thing

Whatever it is, it should stay down there. It doesn't belong in the house with me, but I guess it's just something I have to deal with now. A small price to pay, I guess. 

[Entry #4: Undated] 

For the past month months years , I have not left my home. 

For the past month months years, my curtains have remained drawn and stapled to the wall. 

For the past month months years my entire life, I have lived as a prisoner in my own skin

I can hardly keep track of the time anymore. I wake up. I piss. I shit. I eat. I wake up. I piss. I shit. I eat. Everything is starting to lose its flavor. It all tastes the same.

The basement has started to give off a sickeningly sweet smell. The water has a taste to match. 

My phone broke a while ago. I threw it against the wall because the alarm went off one too many times. I don't have cable anymore either. All I have is this house to keep me company. 

The house hates me, too. It always did. 

[Entry #5: Undated]

Every night, she whispers and begs and moans and pleads for me to let her out. I don't respond. I know nothing I can say will get her to quiet, and I'm not letting her out. I can't have this fucking brat ruining my life more than she already did.

Trying to punish me with her inane babbling. This is HER punishment. She just needs to learn to accept that actions have consequences.

[Entry #6: Undated] 

She only feels bad for herself

Was I supposed to give up my entire life because of one mistake

A teenager shouldn't have been out that late to begin with

[Entry #7: Undated]

haven't slept in days

found new food 

wide awake

[Entry #8: Undated]

Through shattered concrete and broken bone, I made my sin known

Lamb in my headlights, I slaughtered her

Through shorn skin, I reveal myself

A bloody crimson Devil, wretched and wicked

I perform penance and submit myself to His grace and forgiveness

God is real

And He hates me