Wednesday, September 29, 2010



Dear God, that's the only sound I can hear. I heard it when I was 15. I was a candy striper at the hospital. I was walking back to Mr. Johnson's bed after cleaning his bedpan. Halfway across the room, he opens his eyes, looks at me with terror, opens his mouth wide, breaths in loudly accompanied by a loud death rattle and then just dies. I stayed with his body until it was taken to the morgue even when his family made up of children, grandchildren and some great grandchildren filled the room. They mourned and prayed over his body.

It was a small room filled with at least 25 sad people softly, quietly sobbing. I've heard many heartbreaking and frightening things from the time I was a candy striper to when I was doing missionary work in third world countries, and nothing, not even the screams of that village woman I witnessed being murdered when I was just 16 will ever haunt me as badly as the sobbing will.

God, give me strength, for that demon bastard is getting into my head and using my memories against me. This is punishment for trying to escape. This room is filled with the invisible spirits of the damned and they're sobbing just like Mr. Johnson's family. So many of them. They're sobbing so softly but it's loud enough so I can't even hear the tapping noise of the keys as I type.

Please make it stop.


Escape was so close. So damn close.

On the last entry, I said that might be the last post I ever make. That's because last night I tried to escape. I couldn't take it anymore. I figured, if I make it, I'd post one last thing when I'm out in the free world to let everyone know I'm alive and free. If I was killed for trying to escape, well, it would be rude to leave you all hanging.

Well, I didn't make it, and they haven't killed me... Yet.

When the younger man came to give me my lunch, I played nice. I met him at the stairs and said, "I'm so sorry. It's this room. I'm getting cabin fever. I'm going insane. Will you forgive me?" I held my arms out for a hug and and accepted the hug and for all I know, the apology.

That was the trap.

I kicked him where it hurts, sent him falling to the ground and ran up the stairs. They almost always leave the door open when they bring me my food, so I bolted out.

But God, this place is a maze. I think it was some sort of factory at one point. It has that feeling to it. But there are so many walls. So many doors leading to nothing. A few of the cloaked men caught up with me, along with that plague doctor. The cloaked men held me while the doctor injected something into my arm.

Right before I passed out, the doctor said, "My dear, you are in a lot of trouble. He won't like this."

Then I woke up in this room. This prison.

God, I feel so weird. Not scared, but I have this horrible feeling something bad is going to happen.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


That younger cloaked man came in and brought me my breakfast. I sat in the corner and didn't look at him, but he was waiting for me to look up and say good morning like every other morning.

When he wouldn't leave, I looked up and asked where Anita was. He held a finger to his lips.

"Tell me where she is!" I cried.

And again he held the finger to his lips.

Then I got up and tackled him. I pinned him to the ground, nearly choked him to death I think, and I yelled "Where is she? What did you bastards do to her?"

Then that demon showed up out of nowhere. He pulled me off of the young man and held me up in the air above him, as though he was getting a better look at me, closer to the ceiling light. He doesn't have eyes but damn it, I swore he was staring into my soul.

I'm going to be honest. This might be the last post I ever make.


She's gone. They took Anita from me. Normally I wake up around 9 and she's there. But something wasn't right and I woke up. Something wasn't right and that something was her not clinging to me for dear life.

God, please let her be safe.

Saturday, September 25, 2010


The first cloaked man I met entered the room this morning with another man, one I don't think I've had the pleasure of staring me down. He wore one of those plague doctors masks on his face, a top hat on his head and Victorian looking clothing. He carried an antique leather bag that was filled with doctor's instruments.

He took me by the arm and sat me on the bed. Just like a real doctor, he went through a full physical. He even cracked a few jokes, one about a cannibal and the other a blond joke. None of which were funny, especially not in his raspy, haunting voice. Then he preformed a physical on Anita. When he was done he shook his head at the cloaked man and they both left.

Later on I asked Anita if there was anything she thought he might find wrong with her. She said to me, "The doctor told my mommy I have arithma."

At first I thought she meant asthma and asked her if that was what she meant. She said no and I thought some more. Then it hit me. "Do you mean arrhythmia?" And she confirmed this.

"Sometimes I get weird flutters in my heart. They don't bother me, they just feel weird, but they worry mommy."

That must have been what the doctor shook his head over. At the moment he held the stethoscope up to her heart, the heart must have beat in an odd fashion.

But I'm still trying to figure out why there was a physical. I highly doubt that demon or the cloaked men care for our well being.

I don't like this.

Thursday, September 23, 2010


Other than the computer, there's not much to do here. I contacted some online friends and asked if they remembered me. The ones who didn't know my real name or what I look like do, but the ones who know me as a real person and not just a random entity online can't remember me. I'm not surprised.

Anita has a doll with her. It's a handmade doll made by her grandmother. It's limp and faded and rather creepy. While she plays with the doll's hair, I find myself messing with hers. She's got pretty black hair put in dreadlocks. Sometimes I put it up with ribbons she had when she was brought here.

She still doesn't say much but she's taken to me like a little sister. Not hard to imagine since it's only us in this room. At night she clings to me. If I accidentally let go of her, she starts to cry. It's because of the nightmares. They have to do with what that demon showed her.

I've got to find a way out of here. Not just for me but for the sake of Anita. I don't know how much of this her little heart can take.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


I got her to talk.

Her name is Anita. She's 7 years old, from Watertown, Wisconsin.

She was at her friends house when they decided to go for a walk out in the woods behind the friends house. Half way in they started to feel weird. Scared. They took off running toward the house but got lost. She says a tall, scary man grabbed her and all of a sudden she was here.

She said, while she was in his arms, she saw things. The same things the demon showed me.

What kind of sick monster is this? Children are the very meaning of innocence. Only the ungodly messenger of Satan would put such a sweet girl through such a thing. I know that no person is born without sin, but no sin a child could commit is worth this punishment.

I'm sorry, Lord, but I no longer believe this is a test. If this is not punishment, then I have to wonder why you would allow Anita and I to be taken hostage by such a beast. Are you even listening? Do you care?


They captured a little girl. She's in here with me now. I can't get her to talk. I can hardly get her to look at me. God, what did they do to her?

Monday, September 20, 2010


I haven't been on in a few days. Really, I haven't had the strength to get off the bed and over to the computer. I don't know if it's the food or my body's reaction to whatever all this is.

Sometimes that tall demon shows up out of nowhere and watches me. He scares me so much. I tried reciting the 23 Psalm, hoping maybe it would scare him off, but he just sort of cocked his head as if wondering what those funny words were I was saying. If I had a large enough cross, I think I'd shove it down his throat, granted I found a way to it. If I had my Bible I'd whack him across the head with it and run. Maybe I'd escape.

Probably not.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Dear Lord,

I've been a faithful servant of yours since I was five years old and had my sins washed away in the Shenandoah River. I've gone to church every Sunday since except those few months I was in the hospital with a shattered leg or when I had very contagious illnesses. When I was 16 I went to 3rd world countries to help the less fortunate and preach your word.

Now, as a faithful servant, I'm on my knees begging to know why I'd be subject to such a prison. Why I've been taken hostage by a demon and his follower. Is this a punishment? Did I sin so badly that I should be subject to mental torture? Or is this a test of faith?

My Lord, I choose to believe you're testing me, and I except this test. I will not loose faith in you. No matter what the demon and his followers do.


Fear comes in the form of a sharp dressed monster. When I awoke this morning, it was standing over me, looking down. Like the younger cloaked man, he seemed curious, even thought there was no face to be seen.

He (I take it this monster is male. It wears a suit similar to the one the mortician who came around the hospital to pick up bodies from the morgue) is about 8 feet tall, although sometimes he seems taller, it's arms and legs are long and thin like his body. His skin is as white as that of the cloaked men.

I looked up at him from my pillow. I wanted to scream but for some reason I couldn't. Then he picked me up from the bed (He's so strong for such a skinny and frail looking creature) and sprouted another arm. He put this extra hand on my forehead and did something. Something I wish I could forget.

He planted memories into my head. Memories from all kinds of people. Some were children, some were teens, some were full grown adults. All the memories were alike. The person was afraid. Paranoid. They saw this demon no one else could and it drove them insane. The memories ended in different ways. Some people committed suicide, others went into hiding and others went missing. The demon took them.

I screamed and the demon put me down and left. Why did he want me to see this? What plans do these people have for me? And where are the people this demon made go missing? Did the end up like me?

What's going to happen to me?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Another hooded man brought me dinner last night. I couldn't tell you what it was. It looked like green oatmeal and smelled like rotting food. Somehow it didn't taste as bad. Sort of like apples.

After I ate half of what was given, I went back on the computer. I emailed Maya and asked her if anyone was wondering where I was. I got a reply from her about a half an out later asking who I was.

I told her, "It's me, Alexa."

She said, "You got the wrong email address. I don't know no one named Alexa."

I replied with, "This is Maya Thompson, isn't it"

And she said, "I don't know who you are but you don't go around emailing people random, stupid shit like that. How did you get my email? Because I don't have any of my profiles set to where strangers can see it. This some kind of prank?"

I didn't even reply to that. I just sat on the bed and cried. Am I going mad? Has the world gone mad? Have I slipped into an alternate universe? My parents don't know me and not even my best friends knows me.

I cried myself to sleep on top of the quilt and woke up under it. I suppose one of the cloaked men covered me up. Around 8 a different cloaked man brought me something to eat. It was the same as what was brought for dinner. Along with the food he had books. They are bound in leather and have German writing on the spine. Most of them have locks on them except one. It's empty, like an unused journal. I tried to pick the locks on the others but it was no use.

By lunch time I was served another helping of green, rancid apple mush. This time it was brought to me by a younger man in a cloak. Unlike the others, he skin was smooth, but like the others he was snow white and had no eyes. He sat and watched me eat what little I could. He didn't give off the angry or dark vibes the others did. He seemed more curious. Maybe that's because he's younger than the others.

I looked up at him and asked where I am.

He put a bony finger up to his lips and shook his head.

"What?' I asked, "Does that mean you can't talk or that I shouldn't."

Then he leaned forward and covered my mouth. Like the others, he didn't have to speak for me to hear him. "Don't talk. The others are annoyed with the noise."

We sat looking at each other for an hour. He has this dreamy look on his face. With my luck he'll fall in love with me. I don't plan on letting Stockholm Syndrom set in at any time soon, so he can throw any ideas he has out the nonexistent window of this hellhole.

Now it's almost 4. I've been surfing the web looking up cultists who lock up young women in small rooms, but nothing came up, obviously.

I still have yet to figure this all out. I probably never will.

Monday, September 13, 2010


My name is Alexa Marie Mosley and today is my 18th birthday. I should be spending it with my family in friends. For a week my friend Maya joked about how tonight she'd take me out to an adult "toy" store and buy me my first toy. I didn't want that, and God, now it won't happen.

Last night around 8 I was walking home from a party my friends from youth group threw for me. I took my usual rout home from the church. Across the back yard where the church held picnics and yard sales, through a gate hidden behind a row of tall evergreens, across the soccer field of St. Mary's School for Girls, through an alley between Hill's Used Books and Records and Schneider's Hardware, down the street all the way to the end where an old general store use to be that now houses two apartments, the one on the top belonging to my parents. From the start, the walk was creepy and dismal. The sky was dark with clouds and tiny droplets of rain fell. Despite that, the walk was normal until I got to the alley. It's usually home to about three to five hobos. Last night, however, there were none.

When I walked to the end of the alley, rather than being on the open street, I found myself in this room. I don't know how I got here or where it is. It's large with concrete walls and floors. No windows. There's an old wooden staircase leading up to a large metal door. I tried opening it but it was locked. I banged on it and screamed. I begged for someone to let me out. After about five minuets the door opened and I was face to face with a man in a black cloak. He stared at me for a while, making no sound, not even breathing. His face was snow white and wrinkled and his eyes, oh God, he had none, or if he did they were all black.

He stepped back, never taking his eyes off me and slammed the door shut. I just stood there. I was numb. I couldn't move, I couldn't blink, I could hardly breath. He said nothing as he stared at me yet he said so much. My frightened heart felt it. "Do not yell. Do not cry. Do not make a sound." And I didn't. I was too afraid.

I walked to a corner of the room where an antique brass bed was neatly made with old sage green sheets and a matching quilt that was stained with something. For all I know it could be blood, but for my own sanity I pretend it's anything else. Other than the bed, there's a toilet and sink and an old claw foot tub but nothing else.

It's a prison. A prison with a pretty antique tub and antique bed. A prison without bars. A prison with a perk. This computer is the perk. This morning when I awoke, the man in the black cloak had set it up. He didn't say anything, just hooked it up and left.

By now you're wondering, "If you have a computer, why don't you contact the authorities?"

I've tried. I've sent email after email. I tried calling 911 on Skype but they didn't believe me and said if I kept "playing this stupid game" they'd track me down and arrest me. Of course, I did keep playing that stupid game. At around 12 today I tried calling one more time. The officer I talked to tracked my call and said, "What kind of sick games are you playin' here, lady? The IP is showing you're in an abandoned lot out near the highway. I sent a couple of my guys out and you wasn't there. And we ain't never heard of no Alexa Marie Mosley. No one's reported her missin'."

I replied with, "Please, if you could just contact my parents, they'll tell you I didn't come home last night."

And the officer said, "We did. Ronald and Niki Mosley at 223 Barron St. Said they never had a daughter named Alexa. They don't even have any kids. The wife's infertile."

And with that I hung up.

It's now around 3:00 PM. I created this blog as proof that I, Alexa Marie Mosley exist. That I, Alexa Marie Mosley, was born on September 13th, 1992 to Mr. and Mrs. Ronald J. Mosley. That I, Alexa Marie Mosley am losing her mind. If the cops won't believe me then why do I think random people on the internet will? How do I know people will even read this?

If anyone does read this, please don't try to help. I don't believe there's anything anyone can do at the moment. The only help I need is for someone, even if it's just one person, to read this blog and realize that I am real. That Ronald and Niki are my parents, that I am missing.

That I'm trapped. God help me, I'm trapped.