Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Quest 1: Not getting anywhere. Jeremy already knows all the single men in town. He tells me he's considering going straight, but I told him if he lays a hand on me, I'll kill him. He then proceeded to say bad things about the relative size and hairiness of portions of my anatomy, at which point it became necessary to throw ice at him.

This isn't an easy job.

Quest 2: I don't know what I should say about this one. I don't like to think too much about things on Sunday. (So then, I ask myself, why write it down?) Why indeed.

Because if I didn't, I suppose, that would mean there's no point to all this. It has to be my life, I think. That's the project. So I'm going to write without thinking.

I think Arthur's either lost or has lost it. I went by his place and it scared me. Knocked on the door, no answer, but I could hear him moving. So, when I was there before, he told me that sometimes he uses the window as a back door.

And this was a quest, after all.

So, up the fire escape to the open window, sweating in the heat and from the climbing, I holler. Silence. And then I see Arthur sitting there at his computer, kind of lying back in his chair, with his back to me. So I yell at him. No answer.
I crawl inside and am about to slug him when I realize it's not Arthur at all. I don't know what it was. Maybe he started building a model of himself out of Elmer's glue and dust - that's sort of what it looked like. Only all flat, like a snake's skin, and with bit of old clothes around it. there are white rectangular things at the ends of where the hands would be. It was the hat on the head part that fooled me.

And that's not the whole freaky part. There was this smell - I'd noticed it last time I was there. Parmesan cheese, locker room, sandalwood... cooking oil? Yeast? Familiar, but not. It was coming from the whatever on the chair. And on the computer keyboard was this small etching, like a woodcut. I picked it up to see what it was - to take a closer look. When I did, I saw the model thing out of the corner of my eye and could have sworn again that it was Arthur, like in a costume. But it wasn't. It was just the model thing. Scared now, right? Right. I got out my sketch pad (I had my satchel with me) to leave a note, say how worried I was, and make the creepy bastard call me. That's when I heard something move from the bathroom.

The bathroom is off the bedroom, and you have to walk through the bedroom to get there. And the last time I was there, well, the bedroom was not a good place to be. It wasn't messy, it was... just read what I said about it before, Aug 20. Ugh. So without touching anything, I stick my head in there to yell, but before I can, I realize two things: one, the smell is a lot stronger in there, and two, there's that sound again, like something large moving in the bathroom, but it sure doesn't sound like a person. The door handle is jiggling a little, like a rat or something was tapping at it or jumping on it (not that a rat could hang onto the inside of the door, but I wasn't quite thinking straight), and there's a kind of wet, drippy sound, like maybe the bathtub on the next floor up was soaking through the ceiling. Ploplubpluplupplup.... All I could think of were little roach bodies.

And right about then, I took one step back and then heard something even bigger and louder (seven feet tall? I don't know) bang against the inside of the closet door. OK, looking back, it was probably just, I don't know, an ironing board falling over at exactly the wrong moment, but it sounded to me like something bigger than a human being trying to get the fuck out and get at me.

So I screamed like a girl, squeezed the sketch pad and the woodcut so hard there are still finger impressions in the paper, and I ran out of the window and down the ladder. I still have the fucking woodcut, but I don't think I'm ever going back there to drop it off. Not without a flame thrower.

And the thing that really freaks me out is that I'm half sure the white things at the ends of the model thing's hands were fingernails.