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nothing. 
    Nothing.  
    Wait. Wait. I think we got something. 
    660 AM.
    You got to hear this. It sounds like two hillbillies out in the woods killing something. I’m getting my recorder.  Listen…
    “If you don’t plan to mount the head, you got to keep cutting all the way to the hollow, fleshy junction of the neck and chest cavity.”
    “Short strokes right. I’m using my fingers to push that belly open as I cut, right?”
    “Once most of the organs are exposed. Sever the diaphragm.”
    “Got it.” 
     They’re ripping the flesh open. That sound is nauseating. I think that animal may still be alive. I hear groaning. A sad, pained moan. It’s sick. 
    Wait!… Listen. There’s another animal digging around. It may be a hunting dog. What’s going on?
    I think they shot a deer. I think that’s it. Listen! 
    What the hell is that pounding?
    “I use a camp axe to separate the rib cage and pelvis. Wedge the lower edge of the axe into the sternum, then pound the back of the hatchet with the sledge hammer.” 
    Oh God, that hick is pounding open the ribs. That sound is turning my stomach. I’m turning this off, taking a shower and going to bed. I’m done. I had enough stimulation for one day. 
    “This is Eddie Hansen signing out from the Uphir Behavioral Center, December 8th, 2010.”

THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010
     
    JOURNAL ENTRY: 
    THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 2:00 AM
     
    It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep. My body feels agitated and my heart’s pumping. I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or a panic attack or worse.
    It feels like something is pulling on my chest, on my heart mostly. It’s a gnawing pull that won’t let me rest. 
    I’m looking out my triangle window at the institution.  It has this moonlit glow that makes me feel like I am in a horror movie. Like some nut job is going to come busting in any minute with a chainsaw or hockey mask. It’s surreal, this feeling. Everything is heightened, overly sensitive in me.  Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. 
    Self-preservation, instinct is taking over before Freddy comes in my dream. I have a feeling they’re watching me too. I never feel alone in here. 
    I did a clean sweep for hidden cameras, took down the mirror, checked the deer head, the lamps, the clock. I didn’t find anything. 
    But I’m going to type instead of record anything until I know it’s clear in here. I don’t want to give them the upper hand on what I’m thinking or doing.
    I’m putting this puzzle together and I know everything was put here for a reason. 
    The pile of psychotic movies and books in here.
    The hissing sounds on the recordings I made. 
    I’ve got to give them credit for trying to rattle me. The Reverend even left a Bible in the top drawer of the nightstand like in a cheap motel. He personally inscribed it:
     
    “To Eddie. ‘My words are spirit and  my words are life. Use them and live.”  John 6:63
     
    What’s that supposed to mean? Is it a warning? Sure enough, I checked his reference and that’s what it says in that Bible. The good priest also took the liberty to highlight in yellow , some verses about demons. I noticed this as I flipped the book open and looked for that John 6:63 reference.  It’s a couple of pages after that verse. Page 1898 to be exact. He circled number 19, and then highlighted this.
     
    “At these words the Jews were again divided. Many of them said, “He is demon- possessed and raving mad. Why listen to him?  But others said, “These are not the sayings of a man possessed by a demon . Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?”
     
    He underlined demon each time in pen. Curious, I continued thumbing ahead to see what other clues he thinks he left me. The next one I found on page 2077. The top of the page says 1 Corinthians 10. He’s got number 20 circled and he highlighted this.
     
    “No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons , not to God, and I do not want you to be participants