I don't have much time left. I'm hoping the blood will drain out of my wrists before they can get to me again, but I can't be certain. Oh god, it's so cold. I'm losing a lot of blood. But I have to finish. You have to read this. Maybe you can stop them.......

I was exhausted. I had just gotten home from another day of forced monotony that we call a job. I wanted nothing more than to kick back with a cold beer and watch the hockey game. I walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer before shambling to the entertainment room. Still warm. Damn. I sat down in my comfiest recliner. The footrest sprung up, and I pushed the back down far enough so I could just see the TV. I grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The TV flickered on, filling the room with the sound of hockey. It wasn't the same without the cold beer.......

It's a cool, calm night. You worked hard that day, and you feel ready for a good night's sleep. You climb into your bed and turn off the light. You notice that, considering you live alone, it's unusually quiet tonight. Ever since the death of your next-door neighbor, the loud rap music woke you up in the middle of the night no more. The police were quite reliable in these parts, but you can't help but feel a little disturbed that, for all the blood that was spilled and mess that was caused, the investigators still don't seem to have a lead. You tell yourself not to worry, the community is on their toes, no sensible killer would go sneaking around this town....

I've locked myself in this room with my laptop. I don't know when they're coming, where they're coming from. Hell, I don't even know IF they're coming. But what I do know is that they're out there. They are right outside my door, in my backyard, hidden behind the trees just out of sight. All I have left is this laptop so I write this to whoever find it. In order for you to understand, you must hear my story. It's quite a tale. I recently moved into my house, bought and paid for, in a small town. The house itself was 3 floors, 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, and it had a beautiful view of a forest in the backyard. It struck me as odd that it was as cheap as it was, being such a big house. Now I know why....

When I was fourteen, my mother and father were divorced, and I went to live with my mother and a man she supposedly fell in love with several years ago. We searched for a house for all three of us to live in, and eventually found the perfect house. A few months later, after finding out that my dad had cancer, my mom went, even while engaged to this man living with us, to the very hospital and stayed with my father for about a week, leaving me to fend for myself as I remained in the basement, wasting my time on the computer...

My father was a military man. Retired back in '95 from the Navy after 20 years of proud service to our country. But before that, we moved often every 3-4 years or thereabouts we'd pack up and get shipped somewhere new. Early 1989, a wonderful opportunity arose and dad took it. A 16 hour flight later, and we were stationed at N.A.S Sigonella, Sicily. I guess I was about, ohhh 10 or 11 at the time. Those years were blurred save those pinpricks of memory that still haunt me. That still plague my dreams from time to time....

As a child, I was always quiet, and my conversations with others would always end up awkward. Because of that, I always preferred to be alone growing up. Which probably explains my strange obsession with toys, being as old as I am. They never talk. They just stare. I have to say though, being alone in an apartment full of figurines can be creepy sometimes....

If you are reading this, then I am dead, and you are standing aboard a derelict Cyclone class patrol ship, the USS Mistral, with her engines dead and her electrical systems nonfunctional. I am, was, the XO of this vessel, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Simmons. Please read this carefully. If you are an officer or enlisted man in the United States Navy, this is an order: Scuttle this vessel, immediately. Do not finish this letter. Get off the Mistral at once, and send her down. Consider this a quarantine scenario; all hands are likely dead. God help you if they are not......

I was fifteen when it happened. My sister was five. It started on her fifth birthday, when she received one of those dolls that's supposed to look like the owner. It was a standard doll, the same height as my sister, red hair, freckles; it even came with an outfit matching its own for my sister. The only out of the ordinary part were its eyes. My sister had very strange eyes, blue with flecks of brown near the pupil. I used to tease her they looked like toilet bowls with poop floating in them. I'd never seen another person with eyes like this, but the dolls matched them perfectly. I don't recall who gave her the doll, but I thought whoever it was had taken the time to repaint the eyes as a special touch.....

I'm doing this for you. And for Mike, too, I guess, though I don't think there's much I can do to help him at this point. I suppose I should provide some background information first. I'm a sophomore in a fairly good university in Boston no, not MIT or Harvard, but still one that's a bit of a chore to get into. My freshman year, I had the option to live in honors housing and decided to roll with it; after all, at least the people would be interesting. Whatever arcane algorithm they use to process roommate requests took in my preferences and spat out the name of my future roommate: Mike, just another random honors kid from St. Louis. The two of us got along fine for most of freshman year © my enjoyment of Miley Cyrus notwithstanding-and so we decided to room together sophomore year as well....