You may have noticed that we did not post last week, February 20th, 2019.
The intention was to post the last account of events that we currently have from A. After spending all of Wednesday trying to make a decision about it, I ultimately decided not to post it, and did not have anything else scheduled for the time. We are still hoping to discover where A. might be. There are a couple of ideas we’ve had recently, and I intend on following them to the end before posting what may very well be her final communication with us.
As such, this week, I want to tell you about why I started this little project. Specifically, I want to talk a bit about my first interaction with the strange things inhabiting my city.
My first experience was a dream I had in late 2017. It’s one of those dreams that runs away from you after you awake, when you’re desperately trying to recall it, and that’s how it is for me for a lot of it, but I remember distinct bits.
I opened my eyes in a hall of lights. Seemed to extend in front and behind into infinity. So I started walking along. It felt like I must have been walking for hours. And every light above me was a bulb in a different shape, they radiated heat. I remember the sweat dripping off of me in buckets. As I ran, the lights became bright and bright, until they all just flickered off.
I was left there, alone in the dark. Then there was the rumbling. My entire world began to shake. The lights flickered back to life. The walls melted around me and the bulbs began to shatter, the last one was a few steps ahead of me. It flickered to life, shattered.
The light returned and I was staring into the mirror of my apartment’s lobby. The elevators were behind me. The digital display for what floor the elevators were on was going up. One hundred and three, One hundred and four, One hundred and five… and then fast and faster. It was on one hundred and thirty suddenly, and then tickets faster to one hundred and fifty. My apartment only has twenty-two floors.
I was compelled by something. I can only describe it as that force that encourages you to do things in your dream. I reached out and touched the mirror.
Then I don’t remember for a bit.
Then I’m prone in the sand, staring into the water. I can perfectly view the seafloor, every grain of sand and shining rock. But when I put my hand in the water, the seafloor was miles away from me. I pulled my hand away again and watched for a while. A dolphin swam below me.
I saw the blood in the water around it. It approached me and breached the surface. It shot blood out of its blowhole and floated along the surface for a moment before me. There was a knife stuck in its blowhole.
From the water, I saw shadows rising up from the seafloor. Human in shape. The seemed to float up to the surface and then disappeared.
I turned from the dolphin approaching me. The shadows were standing there, staring.
It was a few days later, at work. I worked at one of the public schools along Pugsley avenue in the Bronx. I was up on the rooftop cleaning out the gutters after a storm. I remember that day exactly. I was wearing my green hoodie that had a hole in the hood and a decorative butterfly on the sleeve. It was late autumn but it had hit almost eighty degrees and I regretted wearing the hoodie, but I didn’t wanna drop it on the dust-stained rooftop or the rusted railings. The dumpster was filled to the top with garbage bags. I was thinking about what it would feel like to jump and land amongst the hundred or so garbage bags of discarded food and spoiled milk. Not pleasant, I figured. It was about two in the afternoon, an hour until my shift finished. I was going to get my hair cut that day and ultimately didn’t.
I saw her even from five stories up. This woman crossed in front of the school gates. Something was trailing behind her. It was a red liquid, which i immediately assumed to be blood. It was clear she was going to turn the corner and start down the other side of the school, near the dumpsters.
I rushed down the stairs from the roof and shot out the door to that side of the building. I hadn’t even bothered to turn that alarm off, so it was just blaring behind me until the door shut, which muted the siren somewhat. And there was this woman. She had a hunting knife that had been stabbed straight through her skull, the blade sticking out through the bottom of her jaw. But she was just walking straight ahead, like there was no problem, even as I demanded to know what happened and if she was alright.
I don’t know what it was that did it, but I felt compelled, like it was a dream. So I reached out and grabbed the knife and pulled. The knife slid out, soaked, and blood began to pour from her head and jaw wound. She looked at me, very calmly, and said “Thank you, friend,” before continuing on her walk.
I stood there stunned, trying to get a grip and understand what had just happened. The woman had turned the corner, out of sight, when the school safety officer opened the door with the blaring alarm to see what was happening.
I still have the knife on my living room table.
We live through strange things every day in this city. It’s become a part of life. And I want to document it, and understand every inch of it. There will be no posts in the foreseeable future, until we discover where A. is. Or, at least, what’s become of her.
Thank you for your continued time and patronage.