The Watcher

April 6, 2020

I sit here in my bed joined by an uneasy feeling. I have the feeling that i'm being watched. What feeds my unusual paranoia? I have no idea. I go to the bathroom mirror, no psycho appears jumping from the shower with a butcher knife. I just see the blood shot eyes of a dude that can't sleep. I look out my window ,and no dark figure stands in a trench coat and hat looking up at me. I just see a grey alley cat, tail end sticking out of a garbage can. And when I peak through my front door keyhole, I don't see a crazed eye ball looking back at me. I just see my neighbors door. So my eyes tell me 'all is well dude take your ass to sleep.' But my gut tells me 'dude sometin' aint right'. So I write. And the release of my anxiety on paper, like a good orgasm, puts me into a sound sleep. But like a zombie digging out of the depths of the earth, my anxiety will return.

April 7, 2020

I woke this morning to the feel of fresh air and warm sunshine pouring into my bedroom window. Normally, that would be a good thing. But I didn't leave the window open last night. Or atleast I don't think I did. Maybe I walked in my sleep, stumbled in the dark and opened it. Or maybe in the quiet of the night it slowly lifted up by itself. Or maybe Janet Jackson opened it so she could creep into my bed, and surprise me by screwing out my brains in the morning. At this point my stressed out, sleep deprived mind tells me all three options seemed possible. Meanwhile that pukebox in my gut was playing my favorite song: Dude You're Being Watched. But by who? And why?

April 8, 2020

I wonder what my unknown intruder wants. If there is an intruder at all. Maybe the intruder is an overactive imagination breaking into my mind. Maybe I have seen too many horror movies in my life and maybe this is karma. Could my lack of sleep be actually sickening my brain and causing my anxiety. What comes first the anxiety or the insomnia. Maybe my lack of sleep is causing me to have an out of body experience when I do sleep. Maybe the person watching me IS me. That sounds so nutty. But to the sleep deprived mind it actually makes sense. I guess the idea of someone coming in to your bedroom and watching you while you sleep is so scary, that your mind won't accept that possibilty. Yeah, I would rather have an out of body experience, see aliens or little girl twins in a bloody hallway. Yeah baby, give me mental illness any day over a sick psycho watching me sleep. All this thinking is making me tired. And that's a good thing.

April 9, 2020

This morning I woke to another nightmarish surprise. A white coffee mug left on my night stand, warm and half filled with black coffee. I don't drink coffee and the mug wasn't mine. I ran to the bathroom and threw up in my bath tub. This, being my second favorite way to release pent up anxiety. Only one person in my life I knew loved black coffee, my ex girlfriend, Felicia (a.k.a the crazy bitch). I laugh when I think about some of the nutty things Felicia did: flying to another state to introduce herself to my mother without telling me, having some of her blood drained and put in bags in my fridge, just in case I had an accident. And my favorite: burning down the house of a previous girlfriend. It wasn't proven and she never admitted it, but I knew she did it. It was crazy that I stayed with her for over six months. But a big ass and good sex increases your tolerance level. I wasn't going to wait to be on her list of, on my way to the psycho ward, things to do. I decided I would go down to the police station in the morning and get a restraining order.

April 10, 2020

I have a strong feeling this will be my final diary entry. One, because my pen is almost out of ink, and two, I woke to find myself gagged and bound to a chair in what appears to be a large red basement. Both legs bound by rope and grey duct tape. One arm tied behind me and one arm free with my journal left in my lap. I guess the sick fuck who did this, got off on watching me write in my journal and he didn't want to break his devilish delightful routine. I can't see a camera but I am sure it's here somewhere. I got that feeling deep in my gut again. Another thing I am sure of, this is not Felicia's work. Because Felicia is in the room with me. Her lifeless body lays at my feet with eyes and mouth wide open. She seems to want to tell me what happened to her, who did it and to warn me that I am next. I guess now my gut is saying "I toooold you sooo." My attempt at humor in this situation is to mask the fear pounding in my chest. Its funny how insomnia and anxiety seemed like a huge problem in my life. But right now I would gladly take them back. Hell I would have even taken Felicia's crazy big ass back. I see a bit of early morning sun creep through the one small window in the basement. An old wood stairway leads up to a door which I can't see. I hear a creeking of the door opening. And heavy footsteps start to slowly come down. I smile sickely. My insomnia will be cured. I have a feeling after this journal entry I will sleep for good. If this journal should survive and someone finds it, my name is Charles Dunlap. And my mother name is Ruby Dunlap.