by Lauren Algeo
Marcus pleaded with me to reconsider but I wouldn’t. He asked me what I was going to do with my life now and I couldn’t answer him. The best I could say was that I didn’t know for sure, I just had to have some time out. Then came the standard money question: how was I going to live? He seems to have forgotten that I have a large chunk of inheritance from my parent’s deaths. I’ve also had the mortgage on our house paid for by Karen’s life insurance policy, and we have some savings of our own. We were going to need it for the children we never had.
I can live comfortably off our savings for a few years, but that’s not enough. I dropped the biggest bombshell on him at that point: I’m going to sell the house. I can’t stay here any more. It holds too many memories – good and bad – and that evil hiker knows where I live and can come back at any time. I need to be somewhere new, somewhere small and secure. I’m going to meet with an estate agent next week to get the ball rolling and put the house on the market. It’s a fairly large semi in a decent area so it should sell pretty quickly.
That was the last straw for Marcus. He started yelling at me again, demanding to know what the hell I was thinking. Shouting that I wasn’t in my right mind and I should take this more seriously. He said that Karen would be disappointed in me and wouldn’t want me to do this. He knew he’d gone too far the moment the words left his lips but I didn’t rise to it. There was no point arguing, I’d made up my mind. I left him slumped at my desk, defeated.
Leaving the station for the last time was easier than I thought. There were no emotional goodbyes or farewell speeches. No awkward promises to keep in touch. I just slipped quietly out of the back door.
Marcus is wrong, Karen would want me to do this. To see if I can find out what these things are and potentially stop them. Why wouldn’t she want me to try and help other people if I can?
I realise I haven’t got much to go on yet, just a small stack of fiction books and some news reports. I’m going to use the internet a lot to help me research. The computer we have in the spare bedroom is old and slow so I think I’ll leave it here when I move and get a laptop instead, something faster and easy to carry around. I might need to travel to the locations of these so-called murders and accidents, to see if there’s one of the hiker things there. I’ve got a lot of preparation to do.
18th June 2009
The house has sold already! It’s been on the market for less than two weeks and I had an offer for just under the asking price today so I took it.
There were only three viewings in total. I made myself scarce for the first one and left it to the estate agent. I thought it would be too hard to sit there while someone else looked around our house, but I was home during the second one and it wasn’t too bad. I’ve been getting more detached from the place now I know I’m leaving. The experience with the hiker killed a lot of my emotional ties to the house.
The third viewing was by a young couple, who’d recently married and were looking for a family home. I instantly wanted them to buy it. They reminded me of Karen and myself when we’d come to see the place. All wide eyes and excitement. They put in an offer this afternoon and I accepted it immediately. This will be their home now.
I guess I should start looking for a new place, I’m thinking a small flat somewhere. I’ll only need one bedroom and I don’t plan on taking much with me so space doesn’t matter. I just want to be several miles away from here. I’m going to search the listings this evening and see what’s out there. Somewhere close to a train station and other people would be good. With the money from the house sale, I’ll be able to buy a flat outright and have plenty left to fund my new life.
There’s something I need to do before it begins though. I have to pack away all of Karen’s belongings. I’m dreading going through everything. I’ve so far avoided opening her wardrobe and dresser drawers but with the move I’m going to have to. The saddest part is that when I unpack in a new place there won’t be any trace of her left; it’ll be like she’s been wiped from my life. I’ll have photos and some small valuables, sure, but her presence will be gone. I’ll be living somewhere that she’s never laughed in, or danced in, or kissed me in. It will be empty.
It’s only what I deserve, I suppose. That hiker targeted me for a reason. I must be severely damaged inside to be susceptible to that kind of evil.
It’s happening everywhere I go, you know. That thing I mentioned before about people being uneasy around me. I’ve been getting more of those wary, untrusting looks everywhere I visit. In the shops, at the estate agents, even on the train. Maybe it’s because it only just happened, and the trace of the hiker that people can sense will fade? Wishful thinking, right? I’ve got a feeling this will stay with me forever.
5th July 2009
Welcome to your new home. It’s not much but it’s all I really need. I’m sitting in a brand new armchair, surrounded by cardboard boxes, after what has to be the fastest sale in the world. I found a one bedroom flat in West Dulwich that had just been repossessed and they wanted a quick sale. There was no chain with my buyers and we completed two days ago.
The flat sits above a dry cleaning shop, close to the station and local shops. It’s got one main room, comprising of the living room, dining room and kitchen, then a bedroom and bathroom connected by a narrow hallway that runs through the middle of the flat. Just one bedroom for me… alone.
It’s pokey, although the main room has quite a bit of space. There are windows at the front and back of the room, so I can look out at the road or car park behind, which I like. It makes me feel safer to be able to see my surroundings. People are less likely to be able to sneak up on me.
The one huge bonus is that the hiker no longer knows where I live. I don’t have to spend every waking moment worrying that he’s outside, watching the house and waiting for me. I’m somewhere safer now. So far I haven’t heard any whispering around this area, which is a relief.
I bought a navy two-seater sofa and armchair for the living area and a large bookcase to hold all my research books. There’s a small TV by the breakfast bar but that’s not the first thing I can see from my position in the armchair. I’ve stuck a large map of the UK on the wall as a feature. It’s pretty detailed and shows most of the towns and villages in the country. There are two little pins stuck in it. One is blue and sits over Clapham and the other is red and pokes out from Soho. They represent the two hikers I’ve encountered so far: one male and one female. I hope to god that the map isn’t going to get full up.
I brought Karen with me to the new flat. Well, the most important items I have left at least. The photo of us on our wedding day from the mantelpiece is now on the coffee table in front of me and I have her wedding ring tucked carefully into my jeans pocket. Her presence might not be here but I like to think she’s watching over me.
Marcus finally came round to the idea of me moving and helped me pack up the old house, and bring a lot of the boxes here. I packed away Karen’s belongings alone though. I bagged up most of her clothes for charity. I wanted to keep the navy dress she was wearing the night we met in the bar, and her wedding dress, only there was no room for them here. In the end, I gave them to Trudy to keep at their house for me to pass onto Sue. Trudy took some of the photographs of the four of us too and a few sentimental pieces of jewellery to remember her by.
Once all of her stuff was gone from the old bedroom I felt hollow. It’s amazing how one person’s life can be so quickly packed away. That they can be summed up by a few large boxes filled with possessions. It doesn’t even begin to hint at how much joy they brought to the world. It can’t express how many people’s lives they touched for the better.
I made the right decision by selling the place; it wasn’t our home any more. Now I’m here, in my new place, I’m not entirely sure what I should do. I have nothing but time and solitude.
Marcus lives a few miles away, in Crystal Palace, and will be busy with work so he won’t be dropping in much. I haven’t really spoken to Karen’s mo
ther since the funeral. Everyone thinks we should be united in our grief but to be honest, we’ve never really gotten along. At best, she tolerates me. I get the feeling she never thought I was good enough for Karen. My job was too erratic and dangerous, and in her eyes I didn’t give her daughter the life she deserved.
I know she was wrong – Karen was happy with me. We had a real love together. Sure, it wasn’t always perfect. There were ups and downs, arguments over me cancelling plans at the last minute due to cases, tension over her wanting to cut back her hours in the hope of getting pregnant, money, and obligations. All stupid little things in the grand scheme of it.
Karen worked as a secretary at a primary school and we could easily have afforded for her to go part-time with our savings and my inheritance. I was just too busy worrying about the future to live in the present.
I wish she were here with me. I’ve got nothing but time now.
11th July 2009
Today would have been Karen’s thirty-sixth birthday. It breaks my heart to think about all the things we had planned for this year of her life.
It’s late afternoon, although I haven’t managed to shower or get dressed yet. I’d intended to go to the cemetery and lay some lilies on her grave but I can’t face going outside. I’ve just been sitting in the armchair and staring at her photo. There’s a dent in my palm from clutching onto her wedding ring so tightly. I feel like I’ll drown if I let it go though.
She would’ve hated to see me like this. She’d tell me I was wallowing in my pity and to just get up and do it. But I can’t. Seeing her headstone will be too much to bear. Wife, daughter, friend. I hadn’t managed to fulfil her dream to have ‘mother’ on there. I failed her.
I can’t write this. It’s too hard.
13th July 2009
I didn’t make it to the cemetery on her birthday. What sort of shitty widower am I?
Instead, I’ve spent the last couple of days either in a drunken stupor or severely hung over. I can’t handle Jack Daniels like I used to. Marcus and Trudy bought me a large bottle as a moving in present and I’ve drunk the whole thing since I opened it on the night of Karen’s birthday. I was going to toast her memory, only instead I tried to erase my own. I feel even worse now.
I’ve decided this is the turning point for me. I’ve sunk as low as possible and now is the time to get my life together. Or at least on the up anyway. I can’t go on in this deep depression; it’s killing me.
I’m going to focus all of my energy on finding out about hikers now. There has to be an answer as to what they are. I just need to narrow down what that is. Genetic mutation? Science experiment? Demon? I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.
I’ve unpacked all the boxes in the flat and the bookcase in the living room is only a third full. I need to get more research material to make sure I’ve covered everything. I’m going to start making notes in here to keep track of all my theories and experiences.
First stop is a bookshop though. It’ll be the first time I’ve left the flat in days, wish me luck!
25th July 2009
‘Demon. Noun. An evil spirit or devil, especially one thought to possess a person or act as a tormentor in hell.’
What do you think? The possession part rings true, and it would explain the dark eyes… the only problem is that I don’t believe in demons. I know I should be open-minded – I didn’t believe in mind control until a few months ago either – I just can’t bring myself to accept that hikers are a type of demon. It sounds ridiculous.
That brings me to something more logical:
‘Mutation. Noun. The changing of the structure of a gene, resulting in a variant form which may be transmitted to subsequent generations, caused by the alteration of single base units in DNA, or the deletion, insertion or rearrangement of larger sections of genes or chromosomes.’
It’s a bit scientific but it feels more tangible to me than a demon. Although quite how you can change someone’s DNA to introduce mind reading I don’t know. Grow an extra foot or something, maybe, but that much additional brainpower… I’m not sure.
Telekinesis is moving objects with the power of your mind and I have no idea if hikers can do that yet. The other main idea is telepathy.
‘Telepathy. Noun. The supposed communication of thoughts or ideas by means other than the known senses.’
‘Supposed’ being the operative word there. I feel like the dictionary is mocking me. None of these things seem to be recognised as fact. I thought trying to find a definitive explanation for them would help but it’s just throwing up more questions.
I’ve been reading for days and I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere. I think a good next step would be to find another hiker and try to follow it for a bit. Studying its behaviour might help to determine what it is, and there might be some clue as to why they’re doing what they are.
The thought of actually going out and tracking one down terrifies me. The sound of the other two in my mind was horrible and now I want to do that voluntarily… am I fully crazy?
I have become a bit of a recluse over the last couple of weeks. I’ve even started talking to myself sometimes – not full on conversations or anything, I just find myself muttering the odd words out loud. I don’t want to deal with other people, so right now you’re my closest friend. The only one I can trust with this dark secret.
I think if I can somehow gather evidence of hikers’ existence then someone else might believe me, only I can’t risk it yet. I’m mentally unhinged but have so far avoided any trips to a counsellor. Maybe if this tracking thing works, I can get some photos to show Marcus. The unfortunate thing is that there’s no way I can prove I’ve heard these things’ voices in my mind. Someone else would have to hear them too. Perhaps they already have and they’re out there somewhere, constructing their own research. I just need to find them.
I’ve bought a new Apple laptop for researching. I went to the shops a few weeks ago and chose a small, silver mac book. It was expensive but it’s really fast, with all the latest software. I might give the internet a try and see if there are any blogs or anything about it. Although I guess no one else will call them hikers? There could be an official name for them in cyberspace. I’ll report back with my findings.
26th July 2009
Well, there are plenty of nutters out there! I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours reading all kinds of weird crap on forums and blogs. Some people are very strange.
Most of the posts are utter nonsense about ghosts and things that go bump in the night. I don’t know if I’m searching in the wrong places but they’re all very supernatural. I just couldn’t find anything much about a creature that can control your mind. There was one post from a woman who believed that aliens were reading her mind. She was asking for help on how to protect herself from them – the best suggestion was a tin foil hat.
The notion of aliens makes me laugh, I’m sure hikers are not aliens from another planet, although she had a point. Is there a way I can protect myself from ever hearing another hiker’s voice in my head? Can I guard my thoughts somehow?
I suppose the only way to find out is to go on one of those research trips I mentioned. I’ll have to see what happens when I get close to one again. I’m thinking I’ll research for a few more days then get out there. I can start with short day trips first and see if there are any lurking around London, then maybe try some overnight hunting further away.
The only way to know for sure how many there are out there is to travel around the country. Only I’m reluctant to stray too far from here yet. I feel as though this flat is my safe haven. The only people who really know I’m here are Marcus, Trudy and Sue, and I can’t imagine she’ll be popping around any time soon. I left it to Marcus to break the news to her that I’d sold the house. Pretty cowardly on my part, but I just can’t bring myself to care at the moment.
It feels like reality is suspended in here. That any moment now I’ll wake up and discover that the last few month
s have all been a terrible nightmare. I wish for it every day but I’m not that naïve. Karen is gone and hikers exist. The only way to go now is forward. Tomorrow I’m going to start preparing for my first trip.
15th August 2009
Finding a hiker is harder than I thought. Last week, I went on three trips around London and didn’t pick up a thing. I spent hours walking around and catching the tube to different places but there was nothing.
I’ve bought myself a new rucksack and have been carrying around food and water, and extra layers. I’ve also bought a heavy-duty torch and a small hunting knife, just in case.
This week I tried a slightly different approach and trawled through newspapers and websites to narrow down a location where there might be hiker activity. It seems more logical than aimlessly wandering around, although it hasn’t been that effective yet. I’ve been trying to look for subtle clues in the reports about strange occurrences. Of course, none of them are screaming ‘mind manipulation’ and ‘murder by hikers’ at me but there have been a few little things that could be more significant.
One of the stories today was about a woman who was stabbed in a busy nightclub. It seemed like a random act of violence in the reports, as no one saw who actually did it and the perpetrator wasn’t picked up on the club’s CCTV, but I’m more sceptical about it. One: whoever it was must have known the club well to have avoided the cameras, and chosen the one corridor beyond the toilets that wasn’t monitored.
Two: the woman must have known her attacker to have gone with them to the end of that corridor. It was past the toilets so she hadn’t been heading to those, and there were no defensive wounds on her body, so she hadn’t been dragged against her will. No skin under her fingernails, or bruising, only the single, fatal stab wound to her heart.