Frankie Arielli (Apt. 407)

It itched at me constantly. Left me clawing at my scalp, turning and my bed, and worst of all, it had me leaving my bed altogether. Today I woke up in the strangest place yet. The dead don't scare me--death doesn't either-- but waking up under the headstone of Aaron Mose III left me shook to say the least. I looked around my surroundings and was surprised not to see any strange objects laying around. So far it had been a knife, a finger, a bloodstained shirt, and a single black sock. The black sock didn't seem as outwardly important, but it felt more important than any other piece of the puzzle so far. My life had been intruded upon, interrupted, infested by a curiosity that seemed to be constantly punished by new clues to decipher and rewarded by interactions with Bret. Maybe that what keeps me intertwined with this whole plot. For the third time, I woke up with no explanation of how I got there, but unlike in past instances, the ground I found myself desperately searc...

My eyes and brain fought with one another, but eventually my eyes won out and opened to a darkness even more prevalent than that provided by my eyelids. I reached to my right out of habit to turn on my lamp only feel it pass right through my lamp onto the damp ground. I was suddenly aware of the roughness of the ground beneath me and the cold air on my face. I sat up suddenly and began to really understand my surroundings. My hand sat in the puddle by my side and cement had left my stomach scratched and bruised. My first thought was booze, but I hadn't been drunk in over 48 hours, a record for the past month. In my defense, I've had a pretty rough time of it. Since our pact of secrecy, the four of us haven't spoken of what happened with the knife. Unfortunately, Brett has seemed to lose interest in speaking to me all together since that day. And his new girlfriend was no help to my mood either. Despite my better judgement I followed them into Scary Carrie's only to fi...