Suspicions. Something I had to get out of my mind.
What is Twigs? Like I’ve said before – kind of an asshole.
But if I’m looking at the reality of this situation, he’s just bad news. Nothing good can come of this. There’s nothing that can help us. I’ve done my reading. This thing, this creature – it’s not anything we’ve seen before. Well, at least… not many of us.
And what about those who have? Stalked, attacked, or even dead.
I’ve been thinking about the accounts of several other people who have seen similar things to the creature I know by the name of Sticks. It looks like Sticks is a lot more dangerous than just some deranged, mutated, creature living in the woods. No, this thing isn’t stupid. It can hide from us completely, and disguise itself as us. Hell, it can tear a dog to bits in seconds.
I still don’t understand – if them, why not us? It seems random what it chooses to attack. Maybe it’s just playing a game. I know that John’s parents never had a dog. But they saw a dog.
John’s parents now claim they never had a son. But I saw him. I never saw a dog. If it can make us see things that aren’t there, and can go completely unseen, how do we know where it is? Who it is? I could be anyone, or no one.
The only warning we seem to have is that smell. Cinnamon or pine; sometimes both – it’s a pleasant smell that has become something to make you feel sick when it’s there.
I’ve become paranoid over cinnamon.
I haven’t seen Sticks since I left my friend’s house. My friend who had this wealth of knowledge about Sticks, who got me involved again. Cinnamon rolls.
To tell the truth, I’m scared. Who wouldn’t be – who isn’t scared of it? I think it’s a reasonable fear. It watched me from his front doorway. It didn’t follow me, or hurt me. It just watched, and I could smell him.
I had gone (two days ago, the third of November) to visit my friend after submitting my account of John’s ‘friendship’ with Sticks, and the circumstances of his death. That stuff. I wanted to ask him how he knew about this stuff. Why could we remember John while everyone else had forgotten, why it hadn’t tried to hurt us? When I got there, I couldn’t find him. I’d waited around outside for a few minutes before I just went in. I could smell cinnamon – but hey, cinnamon buns, right? I figured it was just those.
Somehow none of this strangeness registered in my mind until I saw the note. Leave. I don’t know why I was acting so strangely. My friend had contacted me after we hadn’t spoken for a few years. I don’t know why I couldn’t remember what came next.
I decided to try to find their facebook page. Facebook’s always been a pain to me. Never liked it that much, but I think now I’ll never look at the site again. All I found for my friend was a memorial page. They died two months ago.
That’s not all, though. I found out that he had apparently been attacked by dogs – it was suspected that someone had had the dogs attack him, but no evidence for who it was had been found.
So who the hell was sending me those messages? And why didn’t I ever notice how strange this all was?
There are more questions than answers, now more than ever. I want to know what happened to my friends. I want to know what Sticks is. Is it Twigs? Are they the same thing, or is there more than one? That’s a discomforting thought.
