I should probably explain why I'm doing this to myself. It isn't out of some random desire to punish myself. It's because it's the best way to guarantee that I can stay in a brightly lit room with the door closed 100% of the time. No one comes in or goes out without my noticing. I've moved all my stuff from the bathroom into my room, which is sort of like my fort, I guess, and I've got a whole stash of ready-meals that I stick on the radiator for half an hour if I get hungry and a bunch of bottled water. I wish I had an en-suite. The only time I leave is to use the bathroom and for dinner with my mother if she insists, which she doesn't usually. I don't know what's waiting for me outside so I'm not going outside again if I can help it. This is not a practical plan for the future but it's the best I can do.  

I have not slept for almost four days and I think I might die.

My uncle Jacob has come to stay with us for a weekend. Godknows why, since him and Mum barely get along and haven't for as long as I remember. He's some kind of hippy-dippy alternative medicines inventor or something and he always smells like plants, and he's into a bunch of meditation and yoga and every other stupid stereotype out there. Mum's a lab technician, so no wonder she keeps her distance. They've already had one extremely heated debate over the validity of homoeopathy or something and it was nothing short of unnecessarily disruptive. If he's supposed to be here to calm me with his magic plants or something it isn't working. Unless he's brought a ton of pot with him, then it might.

I've calmed down a lot since Tuesday. It's probably just the haze of sleep deprivation, but I've done A-levels. I can handle this stuff. Coffee with crushed up caffeine tablets dissolved in it still tastes like crap, though. If it weren't for the medication, I'd be jumping out of my skin with paranoia, but it's keeping me strangely Zen.

I keep hearing kids. It's weird. There are no kids in this house and both my neighbours are pensioners so there is literally no reason for me to be hearing kids laughing and talking. Occasionally one calls my name. Sleep deprivation is weird.

 After that stunningly rational post yesterday, I had a panic attack and ended up passing out on my bedroom floor. My mother found me and is pretty much forcing me to take my medication – they did prescribe me new stuff after all. I have no clue what it is but I think it's got some kind of weird sedative property. I'm not allowed alcohol while I'm taking them and the label says for short term use only. Anti-psychotics or something. Hah. Hahahaha.

I suppose I am now officially, medically insane so I can have no worries about sounding crazy when I write down what happened yesterday. I left my house almost immediately after posting and cycled to the Brightleys'. I kept to the busiest streets on the way there, trying to maximise my contact with other people even if it was the longer route there. The photo with that thing in it only has a couple of other people besides Laurie in it, so maybe the crowd would scare it away or something. In retrospect, it's a stupid theory. It's not even a theory. It was a random, naïve, hopeful guess that ultimately didn't pay off.

The house had a board from an estate agent declaring it was up for sale. No cars were in the drive and the curtains were drawn. It was almost painful to look at, settled between the two houses either side of it like a gangrenous toe. It just looked so empty, and not just in the sense that no one seemed to live there any more – it was like the place had been hollowed out of existence. The woods loomed darkly behind it.

I parked my bike next to the stacked bins, stuffed full of leaflets and junk mail, and dropped my helmet on top. The bright sunlight bounced off the shiny plastic, momentarily blinding me. I rubbed my eyes and looked up, the skin on the back of my neck crawling as my throat began to close, but I didn't dare look behind me.

All the doors were locked and all the windows were shut except for the tiny bathroom window, which was slightly ajar. There was no way I could fit through there. I wasn't sure when the plan had become sort of very illegal, but apparently it had. I wasn't sure there even was a plan. I looked around. The street was deserted. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached my arm through the little window, groping for the handle of the window with the dodgy lock. It was a long shot, and a likely-incriminating waste of time, but it was the only way I'd get in short of breaking a window.

It didn't feel right under my fingers, but I pushed and probed until something gave and the lock clicked. Pulling back my fingers, I felt something close around the tip of my index finger, sharp and pointed and unrelenting. A squeak of pain escaped my lips before I could stop it, leaning forwards to ease the painful tugging. My heart raced as I tried and mostly failed not to panic. Something burned in my throat, drawing a sudden, violent cough from between my lips before I could stop it. Thank god there was no one else about or I would have been caught by now. I sagged against the building, eyes burning with the effort of suppressing the panic or the cough or both.

It felt like forever. I didn't dare move even the tiniest bit or make the slightest noise, sure someone would spot me at any second. The sensation of being watched began again, and I was sure that I'd hear an angry yell from a neighbour at any second or the wail of sirens or something, but nothing came. Just a second mechanical click, and the pressure released on my finger. Without a second to spare, I pulled it back and shoved it into my mouth without looking at the damage. I didn't want to know. I tasted blood – a lot of it.

I paused before pulling open the window fully. Who knew what I'd be risking if I entered that house? The air was still and deadly silent besides the sound of my too-fast breathing. I'd come this far. Might as well carry on.

I climbed through the window and bumped my thigh painfully on the sink. The bathroom door was already open, leading on to the dark corridor. If the house had seemed empty from the outside, the inside was worse – there was literally nothing here. The floors were so bare they were probably sterile. The walls had been stripped of framed family photos and paintings. The ends of the corridor were swathed in darkness so I couldn't see beyond into the kitchen or the sitting room, but I would bet they were the same. I edged forward, finger throbbing, heading towards the stairs. My toes collided painfully with the bottom step. Cursing myself for my stupidity, I pulled out my phone and illuminated the screen. In the dim light, I could make out the stairs properly, covered in papers with the same scribbles as those that had been plastering the walls in Jess' bedroom. O's with X's through the middle, trees, disproportionate stick figures and scrawled handwriting. They sent a shiver down my spine and I tore my eyes away from them.

The light from my phone didn't reach the top of the staircase. I frowned and turned, shining it at the wall behind me; it lit that up just fine, and they were the same distance from me. Dwelling on the implications would likely do me no good.

Each step I took forwards, upwards, I tried not to think of what might be at the top of that staircase. The thing from the photograph? Jess, or whatever had become of her?

My phone screen flickered off, and I froze. A sound brushed at the edge of my consciousness. Low and steady and thumping, almost a pulsing like a heartbeat but slower and heavier. With trembling fingers, I desperately pushed at the button to turn the screen back on, almost crying out with relief when the light dazzled my eyes. My lock screen was a picture of Jess. With a silent prayer to her, I pushed on forwards.

The top of the staircase was empty but for a splash of pink bright against the dark blue carpeting. I knelt quickly, picking it up and holding it close. Jess' hoodie. The one missing from her wardrobe, the one in the descriptions her parents put out. My phone fell to the floor as I straightened up to tie it around my waist, relishing the way the sleeves wrapping around my waist felt almost like her arms embracing me tightly. It smelled of her perfume. Finally, something normal-

I looked up sharply, eyes drawn to Jess' bedroom door.

It nearly didn't fit in the door frame it was so tall. Only a small part of its upper body was visible as it leaned out from behind the door, unnaturally rigid in its movements, dark suit almost completely hidden in the pitch-darkness. It's face seemed to glow in the low light of my phone, and I screamed. Or I think I did. I'm not sure. I'm only sure that its face lacked any features, human or otherwise.

Without a pause, I ran down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and thanking whatever god that I didn't slip on any of the papers. I could barely breathe, whether from pure fear or from my burning throat I didn't know. It didn't slow me down and I barely remember exiting the house. The front door pushed open all too easily, and I was suddenly bathed in the orange glow of the nearby lamppost. What should have been a comfort only panicked me further, and I began to gasp for air – it had been about three in the afternoon when I arrived and I couldn't have been more than ten minutes inside.

I ran through the woods. I don't know what drew me in that direction, but I ran into the woods. I stumbled home after midnight. I remember very little of it, just the mindless pure panic that kept my legs pumping and my eyes open.

If there's anything good about this new medication, it's that I can apparently think straight when recalling these events.  

Jesus christ why did I ngot back what the fcuk drov me to d someting so fucking dumb. I saw it i swa it i sa it and i it was watching me and its tall and its got no face and I just acnt. I cantn breatje.

Mum finally dragged me to therapy again so they could tell me that yes, I am going medically crazy. They're saying they need to do more tests but they think I'm experiencing delusions from grief and denial or something. I don't know if that's even possible. Jess would know. She was the scientific one. They kept asking me if I was taking my medication and I think they want me to start taking something else, treating me like some kind of stupid kid who didn't understand anything.

Therapy was horrible. I felt like I was being scrutinised the whole time, like I was being watched like some kind of possibly-dangerous but mostly insignificant thing shoved under a microscope. They wanted to talk about Jess but I steered them more towards my home life. I'm sure there's a bunch of stupid Freudian nonsense they can spin from all that.

I'm going to go back to the Brightleys'. There's got to be something I missed, and it's better than sitting around petulantly complaining to random strangers on the internet. I'd better do it now while I'm still irritated; it's sort of motivating.