Peculiar noises abound in the house, that J. claims not to hear… most unusual. He has been listening more and more to that dreadful eighties revival house music, in an effort to distract from his current situation, but it is difficult to imagine that even that din might drown out the screams that persist in our walls.
Anya has found more pieces of the body, though now I begin to suspect that these seperate parts are from more than one corpse. I continue to place them in the shed – they are too far gone even for my own tastes, and you know, Dear Journal, how I like to know where my food has been.
The shed, incidentally, seems a little… odd. Time spent in there seems to take on peculiar qualities – I oftentimes was finding that I would step in there for but a moment in the noon sun, and it would be past midnight when I exited. And the walls seem to sweat, despite the dessicated nature of most of the body parts I am storing in there.
To be frank, I don’t like to spend any longer than absolutely necessary in there.
The best story about Anya today is that she somehow managed to find her way into my cupboard… goodness knows how she managed to lock herself in there… I was trying to call her in from the garden for over ten minutes before I realised she was crying from inside the house.
She left the cupboard in an awful state, with mud and bodily fluids not her own covering the floor. Though oddly, when I was looking for her, I hadn’t seen any trail through the house to the room. I must have tidied it away in a frenzy before realising she was missing, quite despite myself.