The 616 Diaries: Entry 7 by Kevin Kauffmann
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September 10th, 2019, 7:54 AM

There’s something going on.

The last post I put up here—all of ten hours ago—I wish I could still think like that. It really did seem like I had a handle on it, that this would all turn back into the hobby it was instead of the obsession it’s become, but… I’m not sure that’s even possible at this point. For the last couple weeks I’ve definitely been thinking there was something more at work, that these numbers really were signs instead of the coincidences they probably are. Now, well, now I’m heading back toward that kind of thinking.

I’ve started to dream again.

I haven’t had a dream in something like twenty years. My brain just doesn’t allow for it, or at least it doesn’t let me remember them. I’m sure I do go into REM sleep, but whenever people talk about their nightmares or how their friends had different faces right before their parents showed up in ballet costumes, I have nothing to add. I just have to sit there and nod at all the weird details, try to suffer through the conversation even though I have nothing to contribute.

It’s not like I haven’t dreamed before; it’s just been a very long time and back then, well, they weren’t exactly great. I had what people like to call “night terrors” and I would be screaming and unable to wake up. It was… it was awful. I would always “wake up” in the darkness, with fire reflecting off rock walls, with nothing familiar to help me. Then I would start seeing the monsters, the demons, and I would want nothing more than to just wake up, to run away.

I just never could until I got into therapy. Once I talked to Dr. Renquist, the night terrors stopped happening, but that’s just because I stopped dreaming at all. Maybe… maybe I was just repressing it—that’s what makes the most sense from my vast knowledge of movies and television psychology—but now the dreams are back. And as terrible as it is that I started dreaming again, that I found myself in the darkness again, I realized something more disturbing.

I wasn’t scared anymore.

And don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I’m older and more macho. It has nothing to do with that. God, it’d be awesome if it was; I wouldn’t have to get all worried about it. Because the thing is, yeah, I’m not scared anymore, but it’s because… it’s because it feels like home. That darkness, the monsters, the fire and the evil things all around me, it feels like that’s where I’m supposed to be, where I’ve already spent years. When the demons click and clatter and roar, well, it just feels like my family bickering about current events like normal.

Also, well, yeesh, maybe I shouldn’t keep talking, but I just, well, screw it, they’re not making demon voices anymore. That whole “family bickering about current events” isn’t entirely inappropriate, because I could hear them talking to each other, though it was with words I couldn’t understand. It seemed almost like Latin, which is probably because I’ve watched too many horror movies over the course of my adolescence and “adulthood,” but still. It was warped, butchered in a way that made it seem even more menacing.

I… I don’t know why I said that. I typed it out, but I’m not sure why, because that was just a lie. I have to leave it in because this blog has become, well, it’s become a sort of timeline, but I know for a fact that I don’t feel that way about the way they spoke. It wasn’t warped or butchered or menacing. It felt…

It felt comforting.

Damnit, what’s going on? Why are these dreams coming back now? Because I’m focusing on 616? What the hell does that number have to do with my night terrors? Even if it was an issue to do with repression, it still doesn’t make sense. They don’t have anything to do with each other except for being mildly frightening or somewhat demonic. I—or at least the rational part of me—don’t find anything about it to be menacing or scary, at least not like how it used to be when I woke up in the middle of the night and my mom had to hold me until I stopped shaking.

I can’t have this keep happening. Renee can’t see this happen. She’s supposed to come over tonight, but I almost want to make sure she doesn’t. I’m… I’m not doing so hot, and part of me almost wants to stop the blog now, or at least make it so that it’s really more of a diary. You know, to keep to myself. Having this online… I feel like it’s just going to create problems.

Biggest problem, though, is that I can’t seem to stop on my own. I… I don’t want to. If I’m going mad, I want there to be proof, to show that I didn’t use to… didn’t use to be nuts.

Though I honestly don’t know if that was ever the case, now. With the dreams coming back while, to all appearances, it looks like I’m taking a dark turn, I just have no clue. Because that nightmare wasn’t even the end of it. As I woke up, still half-dreaming and pulled in two directions, I saw something else. I saw a swarm of crows flying up into the sky, green fire surrounding the biggest in the center. First time I’ve ever seen that, but I knew that he was the one in charge, and… it felt like I was looking at a reflection. I don’t know, it’s weird, but that’s what it felt like.

Once I was fully awake, I tried to think about what that means—even went to a dream journal site just to figure it out—but then I saw a random site that popped up on Google just because I had typed “Latin” and “Crow” into the search field. I saw something really familiar.

My last name? Corvus? It means “Crow” in Latin.



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