Hearing Whispers
Entry One: 9:51 pm
It's been an hour an a half since the robber locked me in my basement and cut the power. My phones and computer are upstairs. I just wanted to boost the temperature, man. Fuck, why did it have to happen to me. I hate my basement, I wanted to get out as fast as I can, but no, some asshole has to pick now to rob my house. Luckily, I always keep that old emergency pack with the flashlight and watch down here. I also found this journal on top of a box, the first few pages taken up by my math notes from Junior year. It's nice to having something to write in to keep me sane. I know it's only been a little bit, but I really hate it down here.
Entry Two: 12:16 am.
I swear I heard him walk out the door about a half an hour ago. The fucker didn't even have the courtesy to let me out of this hell hole. How smart of me to not get a spare key. My eyes are starting to adjust to the dark a bit better now. I'm not sure how much longer I will be stuck down here. Another minute down here and I might go insane.
Entry Three: 2:44 am.
My flashlight started to dim and flicker a little. I'm turning it off between writing sessions now to help preserve some battery life. Sitting here in the dark is getting easier, my fear of this dusty concrete room is slowly disappearing. I yelled for a little bit to try and get some attention, and then realized that my basement is heavily insulated. I guess that explains why I'm not freezing my ass off in the middle of December.
Entry Four: 4:56 am.
I'm getting pretty hungry, and the dust down here is drying my throat out. My flashlight still has a few hours of life left. The flashlight and this journal are like my best friends right now. I can see the faint outlines of my washer, dryer, and a few other things scattered down here.
Entry Five: 8:24 am.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. My flashlight died. I don't know how, I was sitting here, it's been off since my last entry. I went to turn it on before writing this one. There was a sliver of light coming from the basement door, that's how I'm able to write this. Just another hour or two and I'm out of here. I'm going to go yell for a bit.
Entry Six: 10:30 am.
Bad idea. My throat, so dry. This yelling didn't help. My stomach is seriously starting to rumble at this point. I can see outlines near perfectly at this point. I'm almost able to navigate the basement at this point.
Entry Seven: 12:03 pm.
Why isn't there anyone here yet, surely my neighbors would've heard me yelling, right? Shit, now I'm starting to have thoughts of dying down here. It's the hunger. It's starting to make me mad. Next thing you know, there's going to be a fucking Oasis in the middle of my basement. I can just picture the officers' faces when I'm rolling around in and drinking from a puddle of my own piss. Heh.
Entry Eight: 4:30 pm.
I know it has only been a few hours, but being a bit overweight really isn't helping with this hunger and thirst. I'm going to die down here.
Entry Nine: 6 Something.
I stopped looking at that fucking watch. All it does is make me feel more lonely and more afraid that I'm stuck down here until I die. My stomach is starting to sting and I keep sneezing from the dust down here. I'm so thirsty. The only sound down here is the wind outside.
Entry Ten
I've been sitting here, reflecting on my life. It's quite depressing honestly. All of those great opportunities that I had that could've kept me out of this shitty house. All the girls I could've had, school scholarships, the job offers that I passed. All of this might have saved me if I took it. I've been listening more closely to the wind, it sounds closer than before.
Entry 11
This is that starvation, thirst, and sleep deprivation stress. I didn't mention this earlier, but I can't sleep in the dark. I always have a night light. I swear I'm hearing voices.
Entry 12
I can't speak. I've yelled so much that I can't fucking speak. I've started throwing things at my door, but no one has come to my rescue yet. My efforts are in vain at this point. I'm fucking done. Better start drinking my own piss.
Entry 13
God that was nasty, but it had to be done. My footsteps are echoing now. When my feet hit the dirt, I can just barely hear them reverberating. The whispering-type sound starts when I stop moving. I haven't stopped pacing since I realized it.
Entry 14
I'm alone down here. I'm alone down here. It's the hunger. I'm just imagining it. There is no one else down here.
15
I looked at the watch. 3 days. 3 fucking days. I don't know how I'm doing this right now. The average human can only last 3 days without water, a week without sleep, and a week without food. My piss supply is starting to run low. I'm dead.
16
The same scenario keeps playing through my head. The police open my basement door and there is a thin corpse in a fetal position a few feet from the steps. That corpse is me. I can't get the thought out of my head. The whispers are getting more clear.
17
Words. I can make them out. The voices, they say I'm going to die. I don't want to believe them, but there is always that thought in the back of my head that says they are telling the truth.
18
The footsteps. I can hear them. They move but I don't. It's almost... rhythmic... the way they move. It's like an elegant dance. The voices, they whisper a beautiful song. A song of death they sing. The combined tune of a thousand voice along with the dance of the shadows, like a beautiful play. It's coming.
19
the whispers. they call to me. they beg for me to join them in their dance of death. soon, i will join them.
20
they are screaming for me. cheering for me. I cant wait to join them. they can't wait for me.i know the time is coming, and i am longing for its approach.
It is time.
Police Report
This is the journal found in the possession of a man found dead in the basement of his home. He was found severely malnourished leaned up against the wall. The cause of death was blunt force trauma. We believe that it was suicide was from the hallucinations caused by his sleep deprivation, starvation, and thirst.
According to the doctors, the man has not had food, drink, or sleep in almost a week. The doctors are perplexed by the fact that he went almost one week without liquids. The doctors suspect that he resorted to drinking his own urine. An investigation is currently in progress regarding why the man had locked himself in his basement, but has so far proven inconclusive. There is a possibility that he may have locked himself in the basement out of hysteria, even before this situation.
Credited to Dcsrewster
Originally uploaded on November 17, 2012
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