Excerpts from the Notebook
480 Words
Excerpts from the Notebook of J. R. Callahan (a.k.a. “Crazy Uncle Joe”)
[Entry 001 — April 13, 1989]
If anyone ever finds this, congratulations — either I’m dead or I finally got promoted to the level where disappearing is standard procedure.
Mr. Gray said to “observe anomalies.” Didn’t say how many I was supposed to find. Didn’t say if I’d know one when I saw it.
So I started writing them down. Because I’ve realized something:
Reality doesn’t break all at once. It leaks.
---
[Entry 004 — April 15, 1989]
School cafeteria chili tasted like motor oil today. Not a metaphor. Actually motor oil.
Nobody else noticed.
Either that, or they’ve all developed a taste for 10W-30.
---
[Entry 007 — April 17, 1989]
Test: Walked past the same corner store three times in a row. Same song playing on the radio inside. Exact same line. “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
Stopped believing anyway.
---
[Entry 011 — April 21, 1989]
Shadow of Mr. Gray in my dream again. Except this time, he was whistling.
Woke up to find a single note taped to the ceiling above my bed:
KEEP WRITING.
No tape residue when I pulled it down. Just paper, blank.
They don’t need to say it twice.
---
[Entry 015 — April 23, 1989]
Patterns forming in streetlights.
Sequence: ON–OFF–OFF–ON–ON–OFF–ON.
I mapped it out. It spells “HELLO.”
Either the universe is friendly or it’s screwing with me.
---
[Entry 018 — April 25, 1989]
Saw Mr. Gray in the crowd outside the pharmacy today.
Blink and he was gone.
But he left something — a newspaper folded to the obituaries.
Circled name: Joseph R. Callahan.
Date: Tomorrow.
---
[Entry 020 — April 26, 1989]
Still here. Not dead yet.
Unless this is what dead feels like — hungry, anxious, and slightly aroused by conspiracy theories.
---
[Entry 025 — May 1, 1989]
Think I’m being followed by my own reflection.
Bathroom mirror shows me moving half a second slower than I do.
Tested it: winked. It smirked back.
---
[Entry 029 — May 3, 1989]
The notebook’s starting to feel heavier. Not metaphorically. Physically.
Weighs almost a pound more than it should.
Pages thicken after I write. Ink sinks deeper, like it’s being absorbed by something underneath.
Might dissect it later, if I can stand what I might find.
---
[Entry 033 — May 6, 1989]
New theory: Mr. Gray isn’t one man.
He’s a position.
An echo passed down.
That would explain why his shadow moves like it’s still catching up.
---
[Entry 039 — May 10, 1989]
Woke up to find the notebook open on my desk.
Different handwriting.
Same words I was about to write:
“You’re getting closer.”
---
(End of recovered section)
- Writer
