Psycho.

By Taylor Curley.

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May 20, 1986 Its a wonderful New York City night and Im all alone in my one - bedroom apartment with a Paula Cole wannabe living next door, singing like its Christmas time. Of course, its only when his wife and kids are out at work and school. But anyways, thats not what Im keeping this journal for. My therapist suggested I keep a journal and find the happy things in my day, just so when I feel Im going into a downwards spiral I can look back and say, Oh! The suns come up today. but no, thats not going to help me. What I suffer from -- what I believe to be something worse then the therapist intends -- is something no one could ever describe. Something so horrible, that the sickest psycho couldnt even bare to put up with. Its four letters long, and no one gets out alive. Life.

My life, is hell. What Ive been through, is.. Something you couldnt even imagine. I live with pain, and suffering everyday of my life. You may say, Oh, like Ive never felt sad. Well, no, you havent. Not compared to me. Have you ever been so afraid of the dark, you cant even sleep in your own room anymore? Do you ever feel like youre being watched? Like everything youve ever known has just been one big lie? Yes, all the time, and certainly. You have no idea what I go through. But after these details, would you conclude the worst? Am I sane? Or not?

I have one last thing to say for my first entry. Though I cannot read minds, see the future, or alter the past, I have a feeling that what youre about to read will change your perspective on life. Enjoy. Haha! *****

May 21, 1986 Hello again. Before I begin with my entry about today, Id like to tell you some things about me. First, my name. Jimmy Denver. Yepp, thats it. No sir or dr. or even jr. Just plain old Jimmy Denver. Im 23 years old, and living on my own. Single, not a lot of friends. I keep to myself a lot, and there isnt much more to me.

So, my day was just like every other. Dull, boring, and worthless. Oh, the sun came up today. Ha. Last night, though, was terrifying. Absolutely bone rattling. I was lying on the couch, as usual, and there came a knock on the window. Not very obvious to a regular person, watching TV to fall asleep. And yet, on this certain night, I was not watching television.

I got up to investigate. I slowly opened the door to slightly slide my head out of the smallest little crack. As I turned my head to look towards the window, I clutched onto the door handle as hard as I could. I thought I was going to crush it. I turned my head to the left. Nothing. I must be hearing things, I guess. Or am I?

I shut the door and locked it! If anyone was going to screw with me they better watch their back! Thats how I could of responded. But, I didnt. I simply shut the door, -- of course, relieved nothing was there -- and slumped back onto the couch. It was nothing. I repeated to myself, but surely enough, I just freaked myself out more. I shut my eyes, and tried to fall asleep as quickly as a human being could. I had a big day tomorrow. I heard there might be a storm, better bring out the pots and pans. May 22, 1986 I woke up today to find myself on the floor. Did I fall last night? I dont remember falling last night.. Or even dreaming.

While taking my shower, -- like every other human -- I went to wash my hair. I closed my eyes, and while rinsing, I felt a hand on my back. It was much to faint to recognize right away, but as a couple seconds went by, I felt it press harder. And then I felt it on my chest, and it quickly grabbed my neck! Was I being suffocated by an invisible being? Thats impossible! Inconceivable! No! No! No!

May 23, 1986 Jimmy, Jimmy. Kill her. Kill him! He deserves it! Kill her! And him! And him! Was the only

thing going through my mind, as I walked down Broadway Avenue, trying to get some fresh air. What was happening to me? Why was I hearing voices? And why did it want me to kill?

After last nights attack, I took my showers with goggles on. Of course, that didnt do much for the feeling of being watched. All the time. I feel like every time I turn around someones going to be there. I feel like everywhere I go theres someone watching. Someones waiting. Waiting for me to make a wrong move. Waiting for me to break, to fall to my knees and scream. Someone waiting for me to please them. Waiting for me to feel so hopeless that my last chance of happiness, is to kill. To redeem my soul by destroying others. Waiting. Just, waiting.

May 24, 1986 Today, I walked into my home to find all the lights on, the television on, and the shower running. The windows open, with the air on. But the door was locked. And I doubt the perp had the manners to lock the door after breaking in. I called the police, but they found no evidence of forced entry, and nothing was stolen. What type of sick joke was this? Could I really be going insane? There has to be a reason for these unexplainable events.

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Its night now, and its hot as can be. The air wasnt working and having the windows open doesnt do anything. Its nine - thirty on a Saturday evening, and everything I know is being turned into a negative picture.

Nervous, is what I was. I could feel the sweat dripping on my face. I kept hearing my name. From every angle of the room, moving closer. Backing away. Theres more then one, I know it. But one what? Oneghost?

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May 30, 1986 So, I realize that I havent written in a few days. I saw my therapist yesterday and she told me that Im not focusing on the happy things. (If I havent said already, Im going to the therapist because my doctor believes Im suffering from depression.) So I figured Id keep this journal for myself, to record what Im feeling. Ill keep a separate one for her. But this isnt what I wanted to share. Im going to write down the things that happened during my absence of writing.

- Monday, May 26, 1986 I was watching the television, on a lower volume, and I heard something fall over from the bedroom. I got up and slowly walked towards my bedroom door. My stance; one foot behind the other; preparing for someone to attack. I took a deep breath, and at the exact same moment I touched the door knob, the bathroom door slammed shut. I gasped so loud I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I dashed across my apartment, through the kitchen, and grasped the frame around the bathroom door to halt my body to a dead stop. At first, I didnt realize the issue at hand. One; the door was open. Two; no one was there. Three; what ever it was, -- using the word it loosely, -- was invisible. Out of breath, scared out of my mind, I hurried to the door, grabbed my jacket, and headed out the door.

What was I going to do? Call an exorcist? Call a priest to come bless my house? It cant be that serious. But what if it is? Could it really harm me? Physically harm me? These are the thoughts that raced through my mind, over and over again. No matter what I saw, for some reason, right now, I cant be distracted. Im too afraid to go home, where else can I go? Nowhere.

- Wednesday, May 28, 1986 It was maybe 4 in the morning. I kept thinking I heard a faint bump coming from downstairs. I figured it was just Mr. Clark moving some things around. But he was what? 80 now? Before I could even think of what else he was doing, I heard a really loud thud come from his apartment. Then I heard screaming! I rushed to the elevator and pushed the button with almost too much force. I think I even heard it crack. But thats beside the point. Before the doors could open all the way, I slid through the small slot, barely big enough for me, and jolted to room 22. I knocked lightly, so it would seem that Im calm. I didnt hear anything, so I called his name. Mr. Clark? Is everything alright in there? I didnt hear anything, so a called again. Mr. Clark! Nothing. I waited a few more seconds, and then I kicked the door in. What are you doing?! he yelled, red with anger. I knocked, but you didnt answer. Well, Im reading, and I dont like to be disturbed! Sorry. I walked back up to my room, but stopped at the door. Something caught my eye. Something under the door. It puzzled me. It puzzled me so much, I actually started to sweat with panic.

What could I be in trouble for? Whos trying to contact me? I dont know anyone.

I carefully opened the door handle. I pushed gently on the door and it squeaked a bit. The time it took for the bottom of the door to reveal the paper object was so long, that it felt like a day went by before an inch was uncovered.

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That was it? Jesus, worked up over no-- Before I could even finish the sentence, I felt someones hands on my back, and before I could even think, I was shoved forward with the force of a 7foot man. I lunged off my feet, and landed face first on the hardwood floor. The door slammed shut before I could even interpret what happened. Panicked by the loud thud the door mad, I turn onto my back as fast as humanly possible. Frightened, I scrambled for my balance again. Once on my feet, I rush to the door to see who did it. I swung the door open so fast, the sound didnt hit my ears until the door had stopped. I hesitated for a moment, and stuck my head out. But there was no one there. Nothing, nothing at all to explain why.

- Thursday, May 29, 1986 11:23 pm. No! Stop! What are you doing?! is what my conscious was screaming as I stuffed Mrs. Millers dead body into a bag. I was completely covered in blood. What have you done? Youre going to hell! Hell! Im already there. I said out loud, beating the bag, so it would fit into my trunk. I had finally

broken. Lost it, as they would say. And for a moment, that conscious started to take over. What the hell am I doing? What? No! How? I said, grabbing onto my head, pulling my hair out. The pain.. I screaming, over and over. And it soon faded into a whisper. I was crying my eyes out, soaked in blood. Leaning against the back of my car with the stench of death being inhaled through my nostrils. Where had this pain been coming from? And why is it effecting me so deeply? I got up, finally, after 10 minutes of pulling myself together, shut the trunk, and got in the car. I took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm myself. After a minute or two, I started the car up and drove down to the docks. It was around midnight when I finally got there, so it wasnt crowded or anything. Actually, it was dead. Much like my friend here. I lugged the body down to the end of the dock and before I dumped her, I figured shes more likely to be undiscovered for longer if she was heavier.

After dragging 8 cinder blocks down the dock and into the bag, I had to cover it with 3 more bags. Finally, Im done. All I have to do know is throw her in. Is what I whispered to myself, knowing that this was the beginning of psycho.

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I was almost home when I realized I needed to ditch these clothes. I pulled into the driveway and parked the car. I had to climb in through the fire escape, because buzzing someone to let me in would be the dumbest decision ever. I changed into a pair of black jeans, a light blue shirt, and a light jacket to put on. I crammed my bloody clothes into a duffle bag and climbed back down the fire escape.

While driving through time square, -- at 1:30 am. -- I found that being 1 of 10 cars driving, it was eerie. Like something horrible had happened, and we were the only ones left. The 2 people on the side walk per 10 feet just stared at you like you were crazy. Of course, I was crazy, but I know it wasnt that obvious. You could feel theyre beady eyes burn a hole through you. Finally, I was in the suburbs of New York city. I figured Id drive down to Jersey and discard the evidence.

*******

It was around 3 am when I got to the place I wanted. My old buddy Bryans apartment. Maybe I should say loft. Anyway, he has a fire place, and I think that burning my clothes is a good idea, better then burying it or drowning it.