To be fair, I didn't stay very long. As the minutes passed, I felt more and more that I wasn't alone, but it was more than that. Being in someone else's house when you're not sure you should be is similar, but infinitely less sinister than what I was sensing in those woods. I took some pictures, so I'd might as well share.
|Iverson's playground. It's amazing how playgrounds are still fun when you get older.|
|One of the buildings. Not sure what it's used for.|
|The river's been high since the snowstorm.|
|Dirt trails are nice when they're not so muddy.|
|The river again. Other side looks spooky.|
|My camera started acting up right around here. It wouldn't focus properly and I had to try a few times to actually take the picture.|
|Again, blurry... maybe I turned right when it finally took the picture. I don't really remember.|
|Couldn't tell you what the blur on the left is about. Another building of whose purpose I'm unsure.|
|I don't even know...|
|Iverson usually looks prettier when it's not so damn wet.|
|I didn't even know this was here before. Modern art?|
|This is the replacement for the one that burned down. I only see it open in the winter though.|
|Path back up from the toboggan runs.|
Disappointingly uneventful, but the feeling of the place... it feels wrong. Dead? Not quite dead, no. Why can't I have the eloquence of Shakespeare, that I could put the sensation into words and share it? He would know how to say it.
I'm definitely talking to Jason on Monday. It's obvious that on my own, I'm getting nowhere, and in the meantime the isolation and inability to deal with the idle troubles of everyone around me is killing me faster than whatever this thing is doing. I know it's after me. I feel it in my sleep, I see it for the briefest of seconds when I turn a corner or open a door, only for the image to vanish before me. I just wish it would make a God damn move already.