Scourge, Screaming Scourge

I've made it back to Texas. Everything is wrong. Nothing most people would notice, but my whole world is unfamiliar.

The chupacabras have changed. No less hideous (even moreso, if that's possible), but larger and more abundant. The Mothmen are withering.

My few remaining family members insist I attempted contact not once. My house is still mine, and I've settled back in, but nothing is as I left it.

If a friend were to visit (ha), she wouldn't see anything different. But to me the whole house may as well have been replaced by another.

Everything looks almost as it did before, but the feeling is wrong. My appliances no longer warmly respond to my touch, but silently spurn me. They still work just fine, but they aren't very fond of me.

I go through old poems I wrote in grade school. The words are familiar, but the handwriting is wrong.

Is it?

I write out another poem. My handwriting has changed to match those on my doppelganger's imitation letters.

Lately, I just haven't been myself.

Tunnel's End

My last blog entry was exactly one year ago. What happened during that year?

I don't know. I don't remember a bit of it.

Not a bit of my part in it, anyway. I have memories of life during that time, but none of the memories are my own.

I'm not sure the memories are even of this world.

Should I relate them here? As these are not my memories, but the private memories of someone else, would I be invading that person's right to privacy to present them online?

If I have another person's memories, does she have mine? Can she tell me what I did during this lost year?

I've tried to contact this person whose memories I've stolen, but of course I've found no evidence for her existence or that her actions ever occurred. That is why I'm convinced the memories are from another world. One just as real as ours, but invisible to us as we are invisible to them.

Except for the few occasions when the branes cross over.

How many other people have had this experience? Am I the only one?

I won't stop trying to find my lost memories. In the mean time, I should contact those I know.

I'm no longer in Brussels, by the way. Nor am I back in Texas. I'm currently typing from a cyber cafe in New Jersey.