This driver I spoke of, who said he was called Marshal Teller, he's from a place called Eerie, which is in Indiana. When He told me that, I hoped the town wouldn't be as eerie as it sounded. So far, I haven't noticed much of it. I saw a man dressed up as Elvis, another as Bigfoot, but that's it. Nothing to be at all worried about.
Right now, I'm in his computer-room. I asked him if I could quickly check my e-mails, so that's what I'm... supposed to be doing right now, but I decided to write all this down before it slips my mind.
I only just checked my mails. Most of it was spam-mail. Whether it be to persuade me to buy actual Spam, or for me to buy something called "Net Stab", it doesn't matter. I suppose that's just a disadvantage of having an e-mail account on Yippee. But I'm sure that you're not interested in... well, uninteresting mail.
Being the nice girl that she is (never credited to be), Jess did send me a e-mail. In it, she said she tried to use the Necronomicon, but she didn't recognize the alphabet that was used. So she spent the entire Saturday either at the library, or even New York's "Museum of Natural History", trying to figure it out. All she found out so far is that a similar book is mentioned in Candarian myths, something called the Natarum Demonto, of which the museum claimed to have salvaged a few pages. In other words, I guess it'll be a while before she even translated one word in the book. I thought of telling her that the internet may be easier to use for such things, but then I realized it may not be the wisest. Instead, I decided to encourage her to go on.
Here's something peculiar. I have only just written this down, when I heard voices coming from outside. They weren't kids' voices either. I looked out the window, where I saw... what I can only describe as small plastic-looking monsters, one of which appeared to be partly made out of parts of a radio. I don't know what these things are, nor why they looked like they were made out of plastic. Although, a whole lot of things, I wouldn't be surprised if these were genuinely living toys. Come to think of it, wasn't there a toy-line that had these monsters before? A line consisting out of two factions, one being military, the other being these monsters. Maybe I'm losing my sense of reality, but then, wouldn't you after what I've been through. I'm beginning to question whether my building insanity is truly insanity. People who think they are crazy are sane, whereas those who actually are crazy think they're sane. So all things put together, I don't know what to think anymore. I guess every other traveller before me was right when they said that on their trip they saw things they could never imagine.
After I was done, Teller told me the easiest way to get out of the town and head into Illinois. He told me that the easiest, and cheapest, is to take the train at a local station, that would take me to a place called Terre Haute. Judging from the name (which literally means "High Earth") I assume this city is on top of some hill or other. If so, I don't know how a train would at all run through there. But anyway, once there, I should have no trouble getting into Illinois.
In Terre Haute, I asked for the easiest way to get to Chicago. Unfortunately, there was no direct line that would take me there, and if I were to go to some other place that would have, it would be too pricey, again. So I had to rely on a less conventional means again. So I took a train that would get me into Smith's Grove. That doesn't bring me into Chicago just yet, but at least I'm in Illinois.
In Smith's Grove, I managed to hitch a ride, which would take me to a small town called Haddonfield.
I didn't even finish writing that sentence, and the driver wondered what I was writing. I told him I was keeping records of things that happened to me, things I see, doesn't matter if it were in the bigger or smaller cities. He then wondered if I'm interested in hearing about a local urban legend. Of course I was, so he told me.
Long story short, at some point in the early sixties, on a Halloween night, there was a kid who murdered his elder sister. This got him to be institutionalized for fifteen years. It should've been longer, but he managed to escape, again on Halloween. As it turned out, this kid, in his early twenties by then, had a younger sister, which he wanted dead as well. That sister in question survived, but many people died in the progress, including the killer's own psychiatrist. And what a way for him to go. He stood face to face with the killer, somehow managed to blow up an entire hospital, which killed the both of them. Though this killer, Michael Myers he said his name was, is dead, some people believe that his ghost is still wondering around in his old house. Real estate agents have tried to sell the house, but nobody wanted to buy it as they felt there was a presence they couldn't place. Some even go as far as claiming to have seen the shape of a man somewhere in the house.
Looks like every state in the US has their own ghost-story. There's that prankster in Maryland, "el Barto" in Florida, that house on Long Island, Camp Crystal Lake in New Jersey, and now some ghost of Halloween. From what I know of Celtic mythology (which is very little, but I do know that they're the ones responsible for the existence of Halloween) I think that they'd either know they should stay away from here, or have lots of people coming by to use their old rituals to vanquish this ghost, assuming there even is one.
I just asked him if it's possible that this shape of a man these people saw was some trick of the mind. Perhaps they somehow knew something about the house, or about the small town, or perhaps they were just afraid of old houses. The driver didn't disagree with that idea, but then how would you explain that so many people would have seen the same illusion, even when they don't know anything at all about the town's history? Neither he or I had any plausible explanation for this. But then, a ghost is in essence a being without a physical body. In other words, they may only look scary, but can't physically damage you. In other words, I don't think there's any real reason to be afraid.
I know what some of you may be thinking. With everything that I've been through, how can I still think logically? That's easy. It's not because I saw (for instance) a vampire, that would mean that all vampire stories are true as well. If I automatically assume an urban legend to be true, just because other ones turned out to be true, then what would happen if one turns out not to be true? I might as well think that just because I now know there is a god, I should submit myself to him and become his own personal slave, like anyone else would.
Tuesday, July 15th 2008:
Honestly, is there any state here that doesn't have something or someone that wants you dead? You'd think that after facing with one local legend, I'd be smart enough to not go somewhere where another one resides. Unfortunately, I was told that the guy was dead, so there's no way he could hurt me, I thought to myself.
When I arrived in Haddonfield, the driver pointed out the Myers house that he mentioned. When he arrived at his house, and therefor dropped me off, it was already nightfall. So I needed a place to spend the night. I thought of spending the night in the Myers house, since it's the only place of which I was sure I wouldn't trouble anybody.
I tried to sleep, but I've rested so long in the hospital before, I couldn't fall asleep. I decided to go around the house, see what it is that could get people to believe they saw the shape of a man somewhere. I must admit, I do remember to have heard some kind of breathing sound, but I thought that was just a draught. It wasn't until I reached this one particular room, when I too saw the shape of a man. Except that this wasn't an illusion, it was a real man, wearing dark overalls and a chalk-white mask, and wielding a large kitchen knife. At first I thought it was someone pulling a prank, but when he approached, not saying one word at all, and actually trying to stab me with that knife, I knew that whoever this man was, he was serious, not joking around. He probably would have succeeded in killing me, if I didn't fall through that window behind me. How I did survive that, I don't know. Perhaps I have my bag to thank for it. Although I knew there's some kind of logical explanation for this man, I couldn't help wondering whether that explanation would involve people who'd rob tourists. I didn't want to take any chances until I had a full explanation, so I carried my bag around wherever I went in the house. In the end, it served well to soften my landing.
I ran away from the house and out of the town. I don't know how long I was running, or walking afterwards. But I'm sure that this man wasn't following me. By now, I don't know where I am exactly. All I do know is that I've found an old car-wreck, where I decided to spend the night. I guess, now that I've written all this down, I should get out of the wreck and continue my journey.