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 But to me the whole house may as well have been replaced by another.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.

When Your Mind is Not Your Own

The words in my last post did not come from me.

I typed them out and I published the post. But they're not my words. They're not my thoughts.

Increasingly, I find the thoughts in my head are not my own. Why now, so close to the Bilderberg meeting? I need to stay focused. I need to stay alert.

Have I spent too much time among the chupacabras? Am I becoming as them?

The chupacabras, these abominations, with black hearts and unspeakable faces. I feel closer to them than I do to people.

The Mothman I talked to stopped showing up at the mall.

Vanishment

I have no idea where the second half of today's earlier post went. All I know is that it's gone.

Someone stole it. Who? Why? I can't say.

The really horrible thing, though, is that I tried finishing the post here. I tried typing out the rest again from memory, but the words wouldn't come. They've vanished.

The Ugly Butterfly

The Mothman does not have the chupacabra's knack for hiding. Why isn't he noticed? Mothmen are not as common as the chupacabra, but you'll find two or three in any crowded shopping mall, mixed in with the human crowds.

Try to approach them and they'll even chat with you for a while. Not that they have anything interesting to say.

The first Mothman I brought up the courage to speak to was a scraggly fellow who liked to