thethemeis: Deception
theauthoris: Deadbeat
I awake in a room that looks like it belongs to an OCD sufferer with severe agoraphobia, or a criminal investigation team. The walls, the furniture, nearly every inch of the place is covered in little yellow post-it notes. After a while I realise that i'm in the open-plan ground floor of my new house, though I don't quite recognise the layout. I'm lying on the sofa bed, facing the front door which is blocked by a chest of drawers. All the windows are boarded up and there's a dustbin in the corner of the room with a small fire in it. I don't know what the hell has happened here, something severe I imagine.
I soon realise that my headache isn't going anywhere, so I get out of bed to explore my surrounds for some clue as to what's gone on here. I search every room of the house, but find no sign of my wife or son. There are not even any clothes or toys around the place to suggest that they have been here recently. I can't quite work out how far back the gap in my memory stretches, it all gets quite hazy not long after we move here. I remember everything fairly well up to that point, my childhood, meeting Adriana, our wedding day, the birth of our son Chris. I got a new job down in Texas and we moved down here to make a new home. Then, i'm not quite sure. I could be a week that i've lost or several years, I just don't know.
I peek through a gap in the wooden planks that cover what used to be my sons bedroom window to see what state the rest of the town is in. It's only a small place, the sort with one shop and one bar where everybody knows everyone else's name. We weren't too sure when we first saw the house, everybody has these ideas about people from the south being very unfriendly and accepting towards strangers. Once we had met the community though, we fell in love with the place. Everybody was so friendly and happy to help one another, a real-life small haven. But now the whole town looks derelict, as though no one had lived there for years. It looks as though some great catastrophe had struck the town, maybe a hurricane. They weren't unheard of down here.
I make my way back downstairs to see if these notes stuck everywhere would give some clue as to what had happened. I notice an absurd large bundle of power extension-cables next to the front door. I can't imagine any use for them. One of the first things I noticed after I woke up was that there seemed to be no power here and anything which required power was discarded or used as a light blocker for the windows. My "new" 42 inch TV is up against the far window and covered in detailed notes of some description and a calendar. I walk over to the cables and notice that they are all connect together. Above the pile are a set of post-it-notes, each with a single letter on them spelling out the instruction:
DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE WITHOUT ATTACHING THIS CHORD!
I next go over to the TV to see what is written on it. I stop by the coffee table which has a stack of empty paper on it, a small mechanical timer and a carefully written set of instructions.
MEMORY TEST
WRITE A WORD ON A PIECE PAPER. NOTHING MEANINGFUL OR VISIBLE WITHIN THE ROOM, SOMETHING RANDOM. TURN THE PAPER OVER & PLACE THESE INSTRUCTIONS ON TOP OF IT. SET THE TIMER ACCORDING TO THE LIST BELOW AND PLACE IT ON TOP OF THESE INSTRUCTIONS.
ONCE THE TIMER HAS GONE OFF ATTEMPT TO REMEMBER THE WORD WRITTEN ON THE PIECE OF PAPER UNDERNEATH THIS ONE. IF YOU FAIL TO DO SO THEN ADD A TALLY MARK NEXT TO THE TIME PERIOD YOU HAVE TESTED. ONCE THE TALLY REACHES TEN, CROSS OUT THE CURRENT TIME PERIOD AND ENCIRCLE THE NEXT ONE.
2 HOURS |||| ||
1 HOUR 45 MINUTES
1 HOUR 30 MINUTES
1 HOUR 15 MINUTES
1 HOUR
50 MINUTES
40 MINUTES
30 MINUTES
20 MINUTES
10 MINUTES
5 MINUTES
2 MINUTES
1 MINUTES
Christ, have things gotten this bad. How long has this gone on for? The idea that my memory consistently fails after such a short period of time doesn't seem so ludicrous to me somehow. My head is still pounding. I walk over to the TV and look at a note above the calendar which reads:
CROSS OFF THE NEXT DAY ON THE CALENDAR AND COMPLETE THE SET TASKS
How can I possibly know that i've only read this note once a day and not crossed off too many dates. How can I know whether i've read this note at all. I guess when these instructions were made my memory still functioned much better. Still, some direction is better than none. I take the black pen resting on top of the TV and cross of the next empty date on the calendar. July 20th, my birthday. I notice a small note of the calendar wishing myself a happy birthday and offering me a piece of cake in the kitchen. Looking at the various other days on the calendar there seem to be a great many tasks, each with a detailed set of instructions somewhere else attached to the dysfunctional TV. Food gathering, which seems to take place down at the local mini-mart. Wood collecting, house searching, a fitness regime, memory tests. Every day was planned out, as best as they can be for a human goldfish. What chance was there that this was even close to my birthday, which birthday was it? Oh well, if I do get two birthdays this year then I can hardly complain. Either way, i'm starving and could use some cake.
I go over to the kitchen area and open the various cupboards looking for my gift to myself. The fridge has been turned on its side and used to block the back door. It seems that all the food I have in the house is tinned, and not the good stuff. There is also one cupboard full of jams and spreads, apart from peanut butter to which I am highly allergic. I can't imagine I have a great many things to spread these products on. Under the sink I find a small brown cake with a single unlit candle in it. It doesn't look overly appealing, I imagine fresh ingredients are hard to come by. Still, i'm famished so I find fork and tuck in. It's incredibly sweet, overly so. All I can really taste is the sugar and the cocoa powder, but it does the job. It's only once I start eating that I realise just how hungry I am. The cake is gone in a matter of moments and I notice a note written on the base of the paper plate. I hope the ink isn't toxic.
OPEN YOUR CARD ON THE DINING TABLE
I hadn't noticed it earlier but on the table is a small blue envelope. I open it up to discover a blandly anonymous store bought card wishing me a happy birthday. Inside is a message written in my usual, clumsy, block-capital hand writing.
DEAR GEORGE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
I MAKE THIS YOUR 32ND BIRTHDAY (THOUGH I MIGHT BE WRONG). FIRSTLY, I'M AFRAID I CAN OFFER YOU NO GREATER EXPLANATION AS TO WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THIS TOWN. AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS I AM ONLY CERTAIN THAT YOU ARE THE SOLE SURVIVOR AND WHATEVER EVENT HAS OCCURRED HAS RESULTED IN NO SUPPORTIVE ACTION FROM ANY GOVERNMENT AGENCIES. I AM WRITING THIS ON YOUR 31ST BIRTHDAY (AGAIN, POSSIBLY NOT) AND I SINCERELY HOPE THAT BEFORE FINDING THIS YOU CAN DISCOVERS OTHER SURVIVORS. IF NOT AND YOU HAVE JUST EATEN YOUR CAKE THEN I CAN ONLY APOLOGISE FOR WHAT I HAVE DONE. I ESTIMATE THAT BY THIS POINT YOUR MEMORY CAN ONLY STORE INFORMATION FOR UP TO 2 AND A HALF HOURS AND YOUR HEAD INJURY IS BECOMING SEVERELY WORSE. ONE THING I DO KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT YOU WIFE AND YOUR SON ARE DEAD. I AM GREATLY SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS. GIVEN YOUR DECREASING HEALTH AND THE SORRY SITUATION YOU FIND YOURSELF IN, I HAVE LEFT INSTRUCTIONS FOR YOU TO BAKE YOURSELF A CAKE WITH A LETHAL AMOUNT OF PEANUT BUTTER IN IT. THERE APPEARS TO BE NO ONE COMING FOR YOU AND SOON YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO FUNCTION PROPERLY. IT IS BETTER YOU GO THIS WAY. AGAIN, I AM DEEPLY SORRY.
LOVE
GEORGE
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