by Lauren Algeo
It’s sad to think that I no longer need the few dozen other contacts I used to have on my phone. Old work colleagues, station numbers, and Clapham takeaway places that I won’t ever ring again. I did have a couple of my cousins’ numbers and the odd aunt and uncle but they’re all abroad and I haven’t actually spoken to any of them for a couple of years.
To be honest, I’m more upset about losing my parka. It was a good quality one and I’ll have to shell out for a replacement now. Plus, I’ll have to travel home in the cold without a coat tomorrow.
If I go at dawn, the area should be quiet and I can get to the cliffs without being noticed. Just a quick dash across that field and then back to the road so I can catch a bus out of here. Hopefully the girl will be long gone. Please.
25th April 2010
It’s been over a month and a half since my encounter with that devil girl and I’m still not back to myself.
In the week immediately after, I told myself that I needed to recover. That I had to spend time recuperating in the flat and temporarily put hikers to one side. I rested and slept, and my head began to heal nicely, but at the end of that first week I was still in a lot of pain with my ribs so I gave myself another week of recovery. You know, to make sure I was fighting fit and back to my best.
Only that week stretched into the next, and suddenly it was four weeks later and I’d barely left the flat. I only ventured out for food and drink, and the odd walk to get some fresh air and test my ribs with movement.
Somehow another couple of weeks slipped by in a blur of TV shows, films and books… fiction books this time, not research ones. Now it’s over six weeks since I took that dreadful trip to Cornwall.
I tell myself that it didn’t affect me that much. That I’m not terrified of going outside and running into another child hiker. That the girl doesn’t haunt me in my sleep, always coming to try and finish what she started, causing me to wake drenched in sweat with a scream caught in my throat. That I’ll go back to hunting tomorrow.
Only I know deep down that it’s all a lie. Being so close to death at her hands has changed me. I’m petrified of putting myself at risk of it happening again. She’s surely not the only one out there.
I’ve been drinking again to try and shut out the nightmares. I know it’s not healthy but I can’t help myself. Alcohol numbs the pain and helps me drift off to sleep. Who cares that it’s during the day and I’ve gotten through more bottles of Jack Daniels in the last few weeks than I care to admit.
I’m neglecting myself. I looked in the bathroom mirror this morning and I didn’t recognise the man staring back at me. His face is pale and drawn. He has dark bags under his hooded eyes. He hasn’t shaved for over a week and barely manages to shower every other day. I don’t like him.
My appetite is non-existent at the moment so I look extremely thin. I’m trying to force myself to eat but it’s hard work. Everything tastes bland and I chew it mechanically. Would anyone care if I just wasted away?
I’m not sure what’s left for me. I can’t seem to find enjoyment in anything. TV shows that I used to find funny can’t even raise a smile. I watch film after film but don’t really take anything in; all the characters and plots blur together. It’s the same with books. I picked up a few more at the shops the other day but I must have read the first few chapters of half a dozen and not gotten any further. I can’t retain any of what I’ve read. I feel exhausted. Mentally and physically drained. I want to crawl into bed and not wake up.
Suicide would be the coward’s way out. I deserve to live – it’s my punishment. I very nearly killed a load of innocent people in a car crash; it was only Karen’s light that stopped me. I should be made to live each day going through everything I’ve done wrong in my life. My own living hell.
I’m pretty sure I’d go there anyway. I may only be trying to kill hikers but I’m not exactly trying to save the innocent souls that they’re murdering. I’m too concerned about saving my own skin. I’m not man enough to risk my life for them, the same way I’m not strong enough to take my own life.
I couldn’t do that to the poor person who would find my body. Most likely Marcus, when he eventually shows up at the flat after not hearing from me for a long time. Or the neighbours maybe, if they were alerted by the smell coming from my flat. My rotting flesh giving me away.
No. I can’t do it. I will go on in this trance. An endless cycle of nightmares and nothing. Even writing in this journal is too much. I don’t think I’ll do it any more.
16th August 2010
Wow, that is a depressing entry! You’ll be pleased to know that I’m still alive… and starting to kick again. I’m not sure what made me dig this journal out of the bookshelf today. I apologise for the last entry – to be honest, I don’t even remember writing it.
Those were some very dark days… dark few months, in fact. It was only really around Karen’s birthday last month that I started to pull myself together. Trust me, it was tough to drag myself out of that self-loathing slump. I was scared and I tried to hide from it, rather than dealing with the trauma of encountering that little girl.
I’d say I’m still running from my fears, only in a much healthier way. Surprisingly, I’ve got myself a new job. I don’t need the money but I figured the only way I was going to be brave enough to keep leaving the safety of the flat was if I had responsibilities; a duty to perform… one that didn’t involve hikers. It was either that or become completely agoraphobic.
So I started searching online and got myself an interview about four weeks ago. It’s nothing glamorous, I’m a night security guard at a warehouse over in Norwood Park. I like the solitary shifts and it keeps my night terrors away. I’m an only child so I’m used to spending time by myself. I basically monitor the CCTV cameras and patrol the property once an hour or so.
The warehouse stocks electronic equipment, like computer tablets, and the owner is convinced someone is going to try and rob it. The industrial estate the warehouse is located on has its own security team, but he insisted on an extra man each night. He was very excited about me being a former D.I. and he nodded solemnly when I told him that I’d taken a break from the force after my wife died. He didn’t ask any other questions about it.
I started that same week. It’s low-rate pay but I don’t exactly have to do a lot for my money. I can read or listen to the radio or watch TV while I’m in the control room. I’ve been doing it from 8pm to 6am four nights a week then he has another guy for the other three nights, apparently called Mike and he’s ex-military, but I’ve never met him. I had been lost for months however having this job has helped me get through it somewhat. I have a routine now and a reason to leave the flat. People rely on me to be at work.
I’m back on top of the house bills too after a few reminder letters. I’m pretty much down to electric, gas, water, council tax, and broadband so I don’t have many expenses. There’s no rent or mortgage to pay. I’ve sold the car as well, as I hadn’t used it for months. I got a few grand for it and I don’t have to worry about insurance or tax or MOTs any more.
It’s strange how hikers have started to fade from my mind. There’s an underlying sense of fear that’s always gnawing in the pit of my stomach but the reason for it is less clear. All the encounters I’ve had are committed to memory from the pages of this journal, and the events themselves don’t seem real. They’re fuzzy somehow, like they happened to someone else. As though I just got told about them, rather than living through it all.
I haven’t heard one since that little girl. I can almost convince myself that they don’t exist – if it wasn’t for the instinctive stab of terror every time the news comes on. I’ve been avoiding watching it, or reading the papers in too much depth. If I don’t seek them out then hikers can stay hidden from me. I’m content to stick my head in the sand for now. It’s a necessity for my sanity.
I’ve put back on some of the weight I’d lost so I don’t have that gaunt, ill look any more. My appetite is nearly
back up to the level it was before hikers. Who knows, I might even weigh more now than I have done in years.
I’ve texted Marcus a couple of times since I got my new job. He seemed extremely pleased that I’ve found something to occupy my time. He said he was proud of me and he hoped everything went well. Our friendship is still strained but I’m hoping to rectify that. We’ve said we’ll meet up for drinks in a few weeks when a busy spell at the station quietens down for him. Hopefully we can regain some of what we lost.
I’ve tidied up the flat considerably and put all the research books and papers neatly on the bookshelves. I’ve kept the map on the wall but to be honest, I barely see it any more, it’s just part of the furniture and blends into the background.
I’ve started to find more enjoyment in life. I’ve become hooked on a few TV box sets – not surprisingly they’re mainly police shows. I’m on series four of Dexter; that one’s about a serial killer who works for the police in Miami. Sounds a bit crazy but he’s a good serial killer, who only murders people who’ve committed serious crimes and gotten away with it – if that makes sense? There’s some dark humour in there, you should watch it if you haven’t already.
I find myself drawn to CSI and 24 too, I’m sure you must have heard of those? Loads of tough cases, action, and forensics. It seems trivial to be talking about those now after all the horror I’ve seen in real life, however it’s nice to just switch off and enjoy the stories. Plus it gives me something to chat about when I bump into any of the industrial estate security guards while I’m on patrol.
There are normally two of them a night and I’ve seen four different guys so far. There’s one man, Trev, who I’ve run into most. He’s really into sports, particularly football and boxing, so I’ve found myself paying a bit more attention to those on the TV. He’s a nice enough guy, a little odd in that he’s my age and likes to play computer games – you know, all those ones with the headsets where you play online with people around the world. I draw the line at taking up that as a hobby.
Trev’s invited me out next Saturday afternoon for a beer and to watch the football with him and one of the other guards, Matt. I think it will be good for me to spend some time around relatively normal strangers. Ones who know nothing of the dangers that lurk in the world, and nothing about my life before I started working at the factory. I doubt there will be any in-depth conversations while Trev’s beloved Arsenal are on the screen.
So there you have it, I’ve got a new job and some potential new friends. It’s a million miles away from my perfect life a couple of years ago but compared to a few months back, I suppose you could say things are on the up.
3rd November 2010
Well, my brief foray into normality was nice while it lasted. I may not have been actively seeking hikers but one decided to find me.
I heard it this morning on my way home from work. Obviously it wasn’t actually looking for me but our paths crossed in a cruel twist of fate. Just when I’d finally gotten back on track, one of those bastards comes and derails me again.
I hadn’t heard one in so long that I was oblivious to the noise at first. I thought my head was fuzzy from the night shift, and I was sitting on a bus, daydreaming about crawling into bed for a few hours. The scratching sound snaked its way through my brain until I finally registered what it was. Every nerve in my body began to tingle and I could feel each muscle tensing. I was only a couple of miles from the flat and there was a hiker close by.
I thought about getting off the bus to track it down, only my body refused to budge. I sat motionless as the bus rumbled on and willed the noise to go away. The hiker must have been on the move in a different direction because by the time I reached my stop, it had faded dramatically.
I walked stiff-legged to the flat and locked the door securely. I’ve been in here ever since but there’s no chance of sleep. It’s late afternoon and I’m still on high alert. I’ve been listening intently and I’m pretty sure the noise hasn’t come back, yet my mind keeps playing tricks on me.
What if the hiker was following me? I can only hear them when they’re talking to a victim, or each other. What if it’s finished with its target and is closing in on me, undetected? It could be right outside the flat, looking up at this very building.
I’ve been pacing up and down the main room and repeatedly checking out of the windows, searching for anyone who looks out of place. Someone peering out of the shadows with eyes that are too dark.
I can tell myself that it’s long gone all I want but my body still won’t relax. The harsh reminder that they’re still out there has really shaken me up. I thought I could have a new life, that I was allowed a second chance, but it was a lie.
I’m going to have the ability to hear hikers for the rest of my life. How can I live with myself if I go on ignoring it forever? Knowing how many innocent people are dying at their will. Ones like me, who might be grieving or recovering from some kind of trauma, when they unwittingly become the vessel for a hiker.
The feelings of guilt and fear won’t ever go away, not unless the hikers do. It’s with a heavy heart that I face what I have to do. There can be no normality for me. No job or friends or peace of mind. I have to get back out there. I must find a way to kill them.
25th December 2010
Today was my second Christmas without Karen and my first one completely alone. There was no turkey dinner at Marcus’s this year. We haven’t physically spoken for months, just the odd text when I was doing my security work. That already seems like a different lifetime, even though it was only six weeks ago.
I’ve found it easy enough to slip back into the routine of reading all the newspapers and watching twenty-four hour news channels. The hiatus into a ‘normal’ life was what felt more alien to me, this seems to fit better.
The hikers are as murderous as ever. I was kidding myself, thinking I could switch off from it all for any real period of time. It’s everywhere: in London, in Cambridge, down in Southampton, out towards Wales. If anything, I’d say the activity has increased after my brief spell away.
I’m back to researching again. I’ve been trying to plot their positions on a smaller, scaled down version of my wall map but it’s not really getting me anywhere. I can’t see any distinct patterns yet. I’m drawing dots in locations from suspicious stories online or on the news, they might not be hikers at all but I thought it might give me something. There are quite a few more pen marks than pins on my wall map – I’m saving that one for hikers I have actually confirmed, rather than just suspect.
I’ve added a green pin to the wall map to represent the girl. She’s the only child hiker on the map. I try not to look at it, nestled there on the southwest coast. It causes a suffocating tightness in my chest when I do.
I’m going to carry on with the tracking and researching for a while. There must be another method I can use to try and kill them, and more observing may help me work out what that is.
It didn’t feel like Christmas at all today. I haven’t seen anyone and there are no cards or presents in the flat. I did get a card from Marcus and Trudy last week but I had no reason to put it up so it went in the bin. I knew it wouldn’t be a merry Christmas for me, no matter how much they wished it.
Aside from the Christmas specials on TV, there’s nothing else festive about my day. I had a tomato and basil pasta bake for dinner, washed down with a couple of cans of Guinness.
I’ve found myself thinking of Karen a lot today. It’s always harder on special occasions. My heart ached from the moment I woke up. It sounds strange but the pain seems less intense than last year. Perhaps time is numbing, even if I’m not ‘healing’.
I’ll wait until all the Christmas period craziness has died out everywhere then get back out there. It’s easier to separate the drunken madness from the real evil then.
I think I’ll switch my mind off for a couple of hours and watch some overly cheery TV. I’ll try not to compare my loneliness and mourning to Ebenezer Scrooge, bei
ng visited by the ghosts of his past. Bah humbug.
3rd February 2011
My mental blocking has gotten a lot stronger. It was put to the test today and I managed to keep a female hiker out.
An odd turn of events led me back to the area I grew up in. There was an article in the Evening Standard last night about a murder in Faversham, Kent. A man had been found yesterday morning, beaten to death near the train station. The report said it was brutal, although there was nothing else that suggested it was a hiker’s handiwork, I think the nostalgic part of me just wanted to take a trip down there.
I caught the train this morning to investigate. The spot near the underpass where the man had been found wasn’t taped off any more, however there were several bouquets of fresh flowers lying on the ground. I stood quietly for a moment but could only hear the distant rumbling of an approaching train.
I decided to take a walk to my old neighbourhood and see how my parents’ house looked now. I grew up in a nice, three-bedroom semi on a small side road. We had friendly neighbours but most of them were older couples and there hadn’t been many kids around. I think my parents had intended to have a brother or sister for me, only for some reason it hadn’t worked out. It occurred to me that I’d never actually asked them about it when they were alive, I’d just accepted that I was an only child.
Thinking about it so many years later, my mother did occasionally get a wistful look on her face when she saw larger families with lots of children. It just wasn’t something I ever gave much thought to when I was younger.