SEVENTEENTH - Not alone

Mariana's diary

Sunday June 18, 2006 Monday June 19? The past? The future?

Time: Still unknown, but let's say 3:27 after midnight

I just read what I wrote in the previous entry in this diary and what scared me was that now I don't remember the events with "Gazebo" in the same way. If I hadn't immediately written down what happened when that thing almost swallowed me, before I woke up here, next to my car again, my simple memory would have failed me. If I DID write this why is my memory altered now? I remember the pleasure, the warmth, the feeling of being soothed, the desire to assimilate into the womb of the being that was so eager to accept me. Isn't it wonderful when someone really wants to receive your whole being, to merge with your body and soul, to become a part of each other? If that process had played out to the end, maybe I, like "Gazebo", would have become permanent, stable, forever calm, maybe even immortal?

I re-read my own, previous entry in the Diary and begin to realize that the power of that "Gazebo" still has me under its control. Despite the absurdity of the situation, I am still trying to resist the reawakened force that pulls me back there, towards "Gazebo". Now I realize how useful these writings of mine are.

I must, I must keep my thoughts to myself, and I must not let this thing, this massive, ugly carnivore, hold me under her influence so much that it succeeds in persuading me to return to her. It is now clear to me that her influence on the mind is greater the closer the victim is to her, and therefore I must consciously stay away from her. It's like a siren's song, it just pulls you in and even though you know, like the deluded, bewitched sailor, that you're going to die, you don't care. But why did she choose me? Why doesn't her call affect Mickey? He saw her too. I know I should tell the boys that they should watch me, keep an eye on me, and not let me go back there, but I don't know how to explain what it is that's pulling me back to "Gazebo." They don't see what I see in her.

To make matters worse, Dick came up with the idea to split into groups and try to look for Pops and Jasmine. It is needless to say how much I do not want to be alone at this moment, not only because I fear that I will again find myself near the gaping hatch of that "Gazebo", but also because we keep losing each other. Mickey was not in favor of us separating again, so the two of them had a fight again. In the end, Dick foaming at the mouth said that he would only scout for a short time, and that we should scout in another direction, but also not far from there. I gave him one of the larger screwdrivers, which he, in a rather funny gesture, put on his trouser belt, with a movement as if he was putting the sword back in its scabbard. Mickey suggested that he yells as loud as he could if he saw anything out of the ordinary and come back to us immediately. Dick then started down one side of the road, down among the trees. I think he is not yet aware of how dangerous this place is and how deceptive it is, he probably doesn't believe everything we have told us and thinks we have imagined or exaggerated a lot of it. Mickey asked him not to move through the open clearings, but to hide as much as possible and move through the bushes and avoid the clearings. Dick was not enthusiastic, but it seems that he finally accepted.

Later

I am terribly afraid that we will lose Dick again. This place seems to swallow people. I don't like the fact that we split up at all, and if I were the one deciding, I wouldn't allow it at all, and they can fight as much as they want. As it was, I could only helplessly watch as the slim, boyish figure disappeared from our view again, going down the road, between the trees, into the surrounding bushes. He turned once more and gave us a thumbs up, a sign that everything would be fine, and disappeared into the vegetation. I'm afraid we'll never see him again.

Mickey says he thinks it's a mistake that we split up, though of course it's too late now. Dick disappeared on the other side of the road, and we went to the opposite side, fortunately, to the side where "Gazebo" was not. The agreement is that we don't move too far so that we can hear each other when we shout and that we never lose our position next to my car, where our meeting place will be. Somehow it seems to me that it wasn't enough here.

Some time has passed and only now do I realize how much it meant to me to know what time it was and how much the exact time on the clock made it easier for me to orient myself in time and even space. You can't say "five minutes from here" here because it has no meaning. You can't agree to meet in ten or fifteen minutes, or at a certain place, because in this place that doesn't mean anything either. Communication is also very difficult. I didn't realize how important it is to know the time and its flow until I came to this place, where there is none. In the end, we somehow agreed to meet in some approximate, loose fifteen minutes on Earth, as long as we estimate it to be, or to shout with all our strength for help in case of extreme danger. Also, Mickey insisted that we hide and not go in the clearings. He is worried that there might be some other carnivores here, like the "Gazebo", but mobile. He keeps telling me that he can't believe I would went inside that fleshy, bloated horror. In a way, these sayings of his help me to resist the constant call of carnivore, as much as reading a passage from my own diary relating to the experience of entering that hypnotic, somehow enchanting carnivore.

"I saw something was wrong with that thing when we first found her," he said in one of his endless tirades as we made our way through some bushes, his blond head sticking out in an attempt to ascertain how safe he was. "It seemed to me that she was moving, shaking as if she was trying to stay still and give the impression of an inanimate thing, but she couldn't, not quite. I felt the vibrations of a living being from her, Mariana. I couldn't tell you that, because it sounded completely crazy to me at the time too."

"You sure this sneaking isn't over the top?" I asked him, trying to change the subject.

"I'm sure it's not." he fell silent, his forehead furrowed. I saw that he was thinking about whether we should go back and look for Dick.

"I've never seen anything like it, Mariana. When she stopped playing the harmless garden house, she looked... well, monstrous. Like nothing I've ever seen in my life. Those long limbs... Mariana, she, that thing has eyes on the upper part, with which she finds and hypnotizes her victims. I saw those eyes, I saw the way she looked at me when I threw the rock. They literally rose from where they were hidden towards me. I saw that she was furious. And the thing below... Lord, I still can't believe you wanted to go into that... What were you thinking, Mariana? It was a belly, a big fleshy, pale belly. Her mouth was on her stomach. There were parts of previous victims around. Didn't you see?"

I saw, of course I saw, I just looked at it differently then. I saw a T-shirt, I saw one bloody sneaker and some body parts, organs scattered around. He holds me around the waist with one hand and says that we could cross the next clearing because it looks safe to him. Just to pack up this journal.

His face is frowned, I look at him and now I wonder who he really is. Who is this man leading me through this forest? I don't really know his face, I don't know his steps, his movements, I can't sense his thoughts, his feelings. Is that good or bad? Is it always better the devil you know? Would it be easier if I was stuck here with Marko? How would he handle all this? And do I even know Marko? I may not know anyone.

We are sitting in some bushes and it is clear to me that we are lost again. Clouds of fog are swirling around our feet and I can see them getting thicker. I am cold and I feel sleepy and have a desire to sleep and not wake up until I am no longer here. When I have a health or any other problem, I have weird fixation that every problem will disappear when I wake up after a long sleep, that sleep cures all problems. In my case, the dream predicted my problems, maybe it tried to warn me, and maybe to make me come right here (it said 'Go' or maybe 'Don't go'?). In dreams, we can see our own problems more clearly because our subconsciousness is freer than our consciousness. The warning was about me and my actions, about my self-destructiveness. Blood, self-mutilation, symbol of the Vortex, decay, the cross and the little man, the journey from birth to death. Between the two, we can choose whether or not to enter the vortex, and how deep we will fall. It depends on us, and not on how deep we have fallen, whether we will get out of that vortex in a straight line or if we will reach the very bottom from where we can never get out.

At times I feel my heart skip a beat and I break out in a cold sweat. I want to live, but I don't know how. I see Mickey looking at me. I can barely hold the pen in my hands, it is slippery from the cold sweat that spills the text on the pages. He looks terrified. He tells me that I don't look good and that he is worried. I think I've turned my insides inside out now. I am a wounded person, maybe even dead. No, not dead yet, but like I'll be fighting my whole life not to die inside. Lest I become just a walking corpse, stripped of everything but mere physical pain and the fact that I still exist.

A few minutes ago I was woken up by a panicked jolt. A worried pale face loomed over me and I became aware that I was stretched out on the grass, surrounded by cold clouds of mist. I see my hands and they are as white as ivory. It's like I have no more blood. I recognize that face and hear him telling me not to do it to him again, that he doesn't know how to help me. What should I not do again? He picks me up in his arms and for a while he rocks me like a baby and it's very pleasant. He is so warm. And I am icy, frozen.

Later

We sat down again to rest. Now it is clear to both of us that we are lost. I can see that Mickey is very angry, but he will not admit that he is guilty of giving in to Dick and his ideas. We wanted to go back to my car, but now we can't even find the road. There are only trees around us and the darkness is as horrible as death, especially since I know that never again it will dawn. We both have flashlights, but we try to save them, so we turn them off every time there is at least a little moonlight. That strange mist is terrifying, but for now it only reaches our ankles and occasionally recedes, but still gives us some precious whiteness in this darkness. Mickey says I should give up on this journal because I'm using up precious batteries, but I really think I need this writing. If I hadn't written that part about Gazebo, while I wasn't under her influence, I believe I would have simply returned to her again without hesitation. And if we never get out of this place, if it swallows us up, maybe this diary will show up somewhere, so it will be at least roughly known what happened to us, if anyone is interested.

He tells me that I look bad, but when I look at his face, I see that he doesn't look good either. He's tired, like me. It's as if we are forever wandering in the dark, and the darkness is suffocating us. I am sure that if one day in the world the day disappeared, if it were night all the time, maybe it would only be somewhat interesting at first. Over time, I am afraid that precisely because of the lack of sun, the despair and apathy of each individual would grow. It is difficult to understand how important, how necessary, just ordinary sun, its light, is for us, until it is gone. Here I mean the sun as a celestial body, not any kind of light, because even a blind man can feel the sun, I don't know if they can also feel artificial light, and if they can, I believe that the feeling is not the same.

Another and no less important problem is food and drink. We are currently sharing water, cookies and chocolate bars that I brought in my bag (luckily, I was on a roll), and we are trying to be frugal, but it is by no means enough. And it would be great if that was the end of our problems, but it is not.

I feel we are not alone in this place. Mickey is sitting next to me, his long legs crossed, his dirty blond hair stuck to his face. He's shaking and I think he might have a fever. He repeats that he's sorry, that he's sorry for dragging me into this, that he's sorry for losing Pope and Dick, that it's all his fault. I try to comfort him as much as I can, but I feel myself losing courage. If we ever find the road again, I think I'll just want to run, walk, whatever, up the road, down the road until I get to some place, any place, just that it's different in any way from what's around us. Let there be a glimmer of light in the distance, let there be some sound from somewhere, music, crickets, birds, let the maniacs and exhibitionists hang around, let the animals make noises and run around me, rats, spiders, whatever... and in general, now when I think about it, since we first parked when we realized we were lost, we haven't seen any animals, birds, insects. Not even an ant, bug, bird, feral cat, stray dog, squirrel, nothing. I know that's impossible, but isn't the existence of that Gazebo also impossible? Isn't it impossible for a person like Jasmine's friend Sergei to exist?

Mickey is now raving about how he might try to transfer us both somewhere else. He says that he can dematerialize us both, and then re-materialize somewhere else. He says we have nothing left to lose. He's hot and since I don't know what else to do, I hug him and he rests his head on my chest. I am panicking, but he doesn't notice. He was engrossed in explaining his plans for how his transfer from place to place could be carried out more safely, with both of us involved. I am looking at him thinking he is delirious, but in his eyes I see only reason. He still understands very well what is happening to us. Maybe it would be better if we both lost our minds. It would be easier for us.

He explained to me what his "transferring" means. He was quite unclear, started to get lost and was talking too fast and disjointed, but I think I understood him. If it wasn't for that incident in my car after we made love, when he disappeared before my eyes, in such a horrible way, I might not have believed him. And maybe I would have believed him if I hadn't seen him during that "transfer", as he calls it. After all, maybe something like that is possible here. He suggested that we use this gift of his in case of extreme necessity, when we find ourselves in serious danger from which we cannot get out or when we realize that suicide is our only way out. How dreary that sounds. Damn Dick! I hate him! Even though I know it's irrational and doesn't benefit anyone, I blame him that we're worse now than we were before. If I understand correctly, that "transfer", while previously relatively safe for Mickey, has become life-threatening in the Vortex. That's why he disappeared so slowly. Leaving aside the fact that he might not be able to take me with him at all, the question is whether we would dematerialize and materialize at the same rate, and whether we would materialize in time, before we die or lose an organ or body part. It sounds terrible, but I wonder, do we have a choice?

Later

Lord God, oh my God, he was right! It's good that we were hiding!