What follows has been edited for content and relevance to the ongoing investigation
into events in Sugar Creek, Ohio on the night of September 26-27, 2015.
into events in Sugar Creek, Ohio on the night of September 26-27, 2015.
September 26, 2014
It's almost time. I've spent the better part of two months preparing. Strategizing. Pretending to my family - and my enemy - that everything is fine, that all is back to normal.
But nothing will ever be normal again. I stand on the precipice of a war I don't know if I can win, with an enemy I don't know yet how to defeat. I have to be willing to try anything, and desperate enough to try everything. Today, I know I am the latter.
God help me, I bought a gun today.*
As guns go, it would probably make me the laughingstock of my NRA neighbors: a .38 snubnose revolver, the stereotypical "purse gun." I have no idea what effect it will have, if any, if I have to use it against the creature. I feel like its purpose is almost more psychological that practical, another barrier that I can put between it and myself, between it and my family.
It could also be a way of telling myself that there will be no going back from what I am about to do.
The countdown to the bicentennial kicks off tomorrow.
It's almost time. I've spent the better part of two months preparing. Strategizing. Pretending to my family - and my enemy - that everything is fine, that all is back to normal.
But nothing will ever be normal again. I stand on the precipice of a war I don't know if I can win, with an enemy I don't know yet how to defeat. I have to be willing to try anything, and desperate enough to try everything. Today, I know I am the latter.
God help me, I bought a gun today.*
As guns go, it would probably make me the laughingstock of my NRA neighbors: a .38 snubnose revolver, the stereotypical "purse gun." I have no idea what effect it will have, if any, if I have to use it against the creature. I feel like its purpose is almost more psychological that practical, another barrier that I can put between it and myself, between it and my family.
It could also be a way of telling myself that there will be no going back from what I am about to do.
The countdown to the bicentennial kicks off tomorrow.
September 27, 2014
That went about as well as could be expected for the first try. I wound up midway between being a walking joke and being arrested.
Before I start, I want to make it clear that this wasn't my first move. I tried to go to the Council and talk to them, like Bill had. I also tried to approach them like a sane person, avoiding anything along the lines of "woo-woo garbage." I warned them of disturbing a potential historical site. I brought their attention to the numbers of missing persons over the years and suggested they may be disturbing a crime scene. You wouldn't believe the static I got for bringing that up. Or maybe you would, given the mess I created in January with the doll's head.
Even if that hadn't been a factor, Bill had successfully poisoned them against me. He told them about all of my digging there, and said that any resistance I showed to the project was just me jealously protecting my hobby from them. They pointed out that, if the site did have relics of value, or somehow concealed human remains, I would surely have found them by now. I couldn't admit to what I'd found out there, because it was all completely unbelievable, per the creature's design. This only left the guerilla tactics I resorted to on Saturday.
The inauguration ceremony for Sugar Creek's bicentennial year was also a groundbreaking ceremony for Creekside Estates, and was staged on that site. The Mayor and Town Council were there for the media with all the usual props: shovels of dirt, hard hats they'd never wear again, and the ubiquitous shit-eating grins. This was also where they'd announce their plans for the creek renovations, which was the real news of the day. I guess it makes sense that they'd rather do it here than at the pumping station site deep in the woods.
No one paid much attention to me at first. I set up my soapbox (actually, it was an orange crate; I don't think they put soap in boxes like that anymore) and started passing out my "literature," which was a neat and tidy pamphlet summarizing everything I'd researched to date about the creek, the murders, and why this project should never be allowed to go forward. Most people responded predictably, politely declining or stuffing it in their pockets/purses/etc. or just dropping it on the ground. I was prepared for this, though, and just as the Mayor was launching into his remarks, I pulled out the bullhorn.
People didn't know what to make of it at first. Some laughed, thinking I was part of the show, but they quickly realized I was an interloper, and started booing and shouting me down. Still, things didn't really escalate until Bill came storming over with Chief Talbot in tow. The things he was shouting at me weren't quite at the level of that day at the creek, but it was just as vicious.
"Godd___it, Corrie!" he shouted over the bullhorn. "When is enough gonna be enough with you?" He shoved me off the orange crate and grabbed my bullhorn with both hands. We struggled for a moment before Talbot broke us up.
"You need to leave, Jim," he said, taking the bullhorn out of my hands. "Right now."
I tried to argue, but before I could say anything, two of his officers had me by the arms and were escorting me to my car. I heard the Mayor make some tepid joke about a full moon tonight, and the crowd laughed gently.
Rachel was at the kitchen table when I walked in, and wouldn't even look at me. I imagine one of her friends from work told her about the spectacle I made of myself. I opened my mouth to say something, then changed my mind and went down the hall to the guest room, where I've been sleeping for the last two months.
So that's it. The shot across the bow. I wonder how this thing will react.
That went about as well as could be expected for the first try. I wound up midway between being a walking joke and being arrested.
Before I start, I want to make it clear that this wasn't my first move. I tried to go to the Council and talk to them, like Bill had. I also tried to approach them like a sane person, avoiding anything along the lines of "woo-woo garbage." I warned them of disturbing a potential historical site. I brought their attention to the numbers of missing persons over the years and suggested they may be disturbing a crime scene. You wouldn't believe the static I got for bringing that up. Or maybe you would, given the mess I created in January with the doll's head.
Even if that hadn't been a factor, Bill had successfully poisoned them against me. He told them about all of my digging there, and said that any resistance I showed to the project was just me jealously protecting my hobby from them. They pointed out that, if the site did have relics of value, or somehow concealed human remains, I would surely have found them by now. I couldn't admit to what I'd found out there, because it was all completely unbelievable, per the creature's design. This only left the guerilla tactics I resorted to on Saturday.
The inauguration ceremony for Sugar Creek's bicentennial year was also a groundbreaking ceremony for Creekside Estates, and was staged on that site. The Mayor and Town Council were there for the media with all the usual props: shovels of dirt, hard hats they'd never wear again, and the ubiquitous shit-eating grins. This was also where they'd announce their plans for the creek renovations, which was the real news of the day. I guess it makes sense that they'd rather do it here than at the pumping station site deep in the woods.
No one paid much attention to me at first. I set up my soapbox (actually, it was an orange crate; I don't think they put soap in boxes like that anymore) and started passing out my "literature," which was a neat and tidy pamphlet summarizing everything I'd researched to date about the creek, the murders, and why this project should never be allowed to go forward. Most people responded predictably, politely declining or stuffing it in their pockets/purses/etc. or just dropping it on the ground. I was prepared for this, though, and just as the Mayor was launching into his remarks, I pulled out the bullhorn.
People didn't know what to make of it at first. Some laughed, thinking I was part of the show, but they quickly realized I was an interloper, and started booing and shouting me down. Still, things didn't really escalate until Bill came storming over with Chief Talbot in tow. The things he was shouting at me weren't quite at the level of that day at the creek, but it was just as vicious.
"Godd___it, Corrie!" he shouted over the bullhorn. "When is enough gonna be enough with you?" He shoved me off the orange crate and grabbed my bullhorn with both hands. We struggled for a moment before Talbot broke us up.
"You need to leave, Jim," he said, taking the bullhorn out of my hands. "Right now."
I tried to argue, but before I could say anything, two of his officers had me by the arms and were escorting me to my car. I heard the Mayor make some tepid joke about a full moon tonight, and the crowd laughed gently.
Rachel was at the kitchen table when I walked in, and wouldn't even look at me. I imagine one of her friends from work told her about the spectacle I made of myself. I opened my mouth to say something, then changed my mind and went down the hall to the guest room, where I've been sleeping for the last two months.
So that's it. The shot across the bow. I wonder how this thing will react.
September 28, 2014
Motherf___er.
I'm sorry if this is hard to read, but it's hard to hold the pen the way my hands are shaking.
I didn't have to wait long for the beast to retaliate. It started almost immediately after I closed my eyes:
Motherf___er.
I'm sorry if this is hard to read, but it's hard to hold the pen the way my hands are shaking.
I didn't have to wait long for the beast to retaliate. It started almost immediately after I closed my eyes:
In the dream, I was dead. We were both dead and buried deep, Rachel and I. Dirt filled my mouth and clogged my nose and throat. Yet I could still feel everything. I could still see Rachel's glassy, dead eyes bulging in horror. I could smell the overwhelming stench of blood and decay.
I could still scream. So could she. So could every other dead soul surrounding us. We all screamed as one, in one voice.
I awoke from this hell only minutes ago, and I'm about to drop the pen the way I'm trembling. But I'm not afraid.
I'm f___ing furious.
This was the best you could do, shitbag? You've shown my death to me God knows how many times. That's old news. But you threatened her again, and I will not take that lying down! I swear, if I can find a way, I will peel you like a godd___ed onion, rip you apart soul by soul, until your black, putrid heart is exposed, which I will tear out with my teeth.
This is just getting started, f___er. I have not yet begun to fight.
*Note: the gun mentioned in Mr. Corrie's entry matches the description of the one retrieved from Sugar Creek not far from his house. It had been fired three times on the day in question, in the direction of the house and road. Two slugs were removed from one of the porch pillars and a tree in the Corrie's front yard. Curiously, the third bullet was retrieved from the back seat of the wrecked police cruiser operated by Chief Declan Talbot on the day in question. Forensic evidence shows that it had been fired into the cruiser through the front windshield. Blood and DNA evidence in the car and on the slug itself suggest that the bullet may have struck the accompanying officer, Sean Coleridge, before embedding itself in the back seat. The seriousness and potential lethality of the resulting wound cannot be determined at this time.
I could still scream. So could she. So could every other dead soul surrounding us. We all screamed as one, in one voice.
I awoke from this hell only minutes ago, and I'm about to drop the pen the way I'm trembling. But I'm not afraid.
I'm f___ing furious.
This was the best you could do, shitbag? You've shown my death to me God knows how many times. That's old news. But you threatened her again, and I will not take that lying down! I swear, if I can find a way, I will peel you like a godd___ed onion, rip you apart soul by soul, until your black, putrid heart is exposed, which I will tear out with my teeth.
This is just getting started, f___er. I have not yet begun to fight.
*Note: the gun mentioned in Mr. Corrie's entry matches the description of the one retrieved from Sugar Creek not far from his house. It had been fired three times on the day in question, in the direction of the house and road. Two slugs were removed from one of the porch pillars and a tree in the Corrie's front yard. Curiously, the third bullet was retrieved from the back seat of the wrecked police cruiser operated by Chief Declan Talbot on the day in question. Forensic evidence shows that it had been fired into the cruiser through the front windshield. Blood and DNA evidence in the car and on the slug itself suggest that the bullet may have struck the accompanying officer, Sean Coleridge, before embedding itself in the back seat. The seriousness and potential lethality of the resulting wound cannot be determined at this time.
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