Over the past few days, I have been growing increasingly uncomfortable. Not physically this time, but because of a couple of strange feelings that are gnawing at me.
Firstly, I am becoming more aware every day of how this Charlotte Hamm situation could be nothing more than an elaborate prank or worse. Would it be out of the question for my enemies here in Pale Forest to create such a site to throw me off with false information? Sure, Hamm hasn't yet contacted me, but can I truly trust anything she says when she finally does? I still can't find even a shred of proof that she exists, so it's safe to assume Charlotte Hamm is a pseudonym either way. This much secrecy definitely raises doubts.
My other vexation is most certainly seeing, and then writing about, Mayor Jack Huntley being at the mill the day I stuck onto the grounds. No offense, believers, but in retrospect, I probably should have kept that much to myself. If Huntley, a man of obvious means here in the city, were truly involved in something insidious, pointing it out over the Internet was probably a great way to get on his worst side. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd had something to do with the person who broke into my old house.
Huntley has always been a little violent in his approach-- though the local paper prefers the term passionate. One of this pet projects over the years has been closing Pale Forest off to outsiders, and he used this platform to win his position shortly after the mill closed most of its facilities. He's decidedly "old guard" in that respect and he's managed to silence or simply run off most of his opposition. If I'm now in his cross-hairs, its really my own doing. A part of me says that I'm just being paranoid, but the last few weeks have taught me to question everything and trust nothing.
I've been having a reoccurring dream the last few nights in which I am trapped in a very tight area. There is next to no light except for a thin, straight sliver to my left. I'm almost always on my back and though I can barely move, stretching allows me to feel the walls on every side. Banging on these does no good and screaming produces only a muffled sound. Finally, after several agonizing, claustrophobic minutes, one of the walls suddenly rises and I realize where I am: the trunk of a car, bound and gagged. Light comes pouring in, and as I squint, the laughing face of Jack Huntley taunts me. It isn't really Huntley, though-- this version is greatly deformed and his eyes appear have been gouged out. Despite the fact this horror is not at all how he actually looks, subconsciously I know it's him. Thankfully, I always wake right as he reaches for me.
Nightmares obviously can't to actual harm-- except for, perhaps, depriving a person of sleep-- but the risk in this case seems all too real. I'm not going to stop what I'm doing, but the idea of the most powerful people in Pale Forest wanting me out does cause me more than a little stress. Hopefully tonight will be more restful.
Until next time...