January 17th, 1982: My 14th birthday. It’s a shame that mom suddenly died today. But yesterday, she gave me this wonderful diary to share my memorable moments… I just did something I might regret. But it was so easy and satisfying. The same eyes that I admired so much. Mother was right. Eyes are beautiful. I’m glad I could help my mother even after she’s passed. Even the hospital couldn’t figure it out. I tried to tell them, but they just handed me money and pushed me away.
October 30th, 1990: “Eyes are the windows to the soul.” My mom told me this when I was a kid, that you could learn anything about a person just by looking at their eyes. I could see her lingering resentment for my father every time she looked at me, a reminder of what once was. Even in my sleep, I was not free from her resentful gaze. Nevertheless, I have fond memories: how we would dance in the tall grassy fields, how she looked me in the eyes, how her gaze never faltered. I have preserved these memories forever, by saving her soul from the confines of her dead body. I am so happy to have saved my mother, and have her by my side. I like to protect other souls and be their companion forever.
October 31st, 1990: I recently moved to a new town and made some friends. Luckily, one of my new friends is letting me stay and house sit. I find it remarkable how trusting humans can be. However, I need to find a job soon.
November 2nd, 1990: I just passed a “help wanted” sign by the mortuary. I’ll check it out.
November 13th, 1990: I got the job. I’m only cleaning the gravestones but it’s a start. I’m shaking with delight just thinking about it. Hopefully I’ll get to be more hands-on soon.
November 22nd, 1990: I’ve already been promoted and I’m in charge of embalming the bodies now. Exhilarating!
November 23rd, 1990: Bodies. Bodies everywhere. More than 20 today. How wasteful to embalm the eyes with the bodies and lose them forever… these precious souls.
I don’t think anyone will notice if I just take them, where they’ll be truly appreciated.
I was right. No one noticed and now these lost souls have a proper home.
November 25th, 1990: My friend came home. I’m contemplating whether I should tell him about my hobby. I’ve found that people don’t really appreciate my ideas, they say I am being weird or gross.
I’m a bit worried about how he’ll respond…
(10pm) I told him. I told him and he was just like all the others. His eyes told me everything I needed to know… I did something. I HAD TO. HE THREATENED ME FIRST! Of course I tried to explain but he just REFUSED to listen! I feel bad, but also disappointed that he didn’t understand. His eyes are devoid of disgust now. I promised to apologize to his soul everyday, so surely he’ll forgive me.
November 27th, 1990: Strange. A police car is waiting outside. A nice man interviewed me. He seems suspicious. I’m glad I got rid of the body. He couldn’t be here to talk to me about “that” though right?
November 28th, 1990: His mother stopped by. Nice lady. I feel bad about her son, but I don’t think I can tell her the truth either. Kind of reminds me of my own mom. I like her eyes. They remind me of somebody…
December 1st, 1990: Working at the mortuary is getting a little… crowded. I keep hearing little voices, saying ‘Free me. Save me.’ I want to reply, but I think people will look at me weird again. Doesn’t appear like anyone else can hear the voices.
December 6th, 1990: I can’t handle it anymore. They just keep begging and I have to help those in need right? They’re reaching out to me constantly. How can I turn a blind eye to the needy? When I, only I, can save these souls from eternal damnation. It’ll be quick and easy. I remember the scalpel in the other room. No one will notice. I won’t get in trouble with the nice man again.
December 8th, 1990: Our house doesn’t feel as empty anymore. Plus, I’m not alone now! My true friends, my “soulmates,” talk to me every night. I talk about my frustrations, joys, plans. I will build the world’s biggest mortuary and save thousands of souls each and every day.
I am careful, though. I lock my soul friends every morning, inside the shack. I feel bad, but it’s for their safety.
December 10th, 1990: I know why I liked that lady’s eyes. I recognize them. That same feeling of contempt and hatred. How did she know? Was it the blood on my cheek? That troublesome woman! She called the nice man and asked him to investigate me. Can you believe it? When I’m gone, those souls will be trapped once again. How horrible!
Wait… I hear somebody yelling in the backyard, near the shack. I think they found my friends.
January 1st or 3rd?
Where am I? There are no windows, just solid walls.
The last three weeks have been a blur.
After the policeman searched the shack, they dragged me to one of their facilities. I don’t know their purpose or why I’m here. There’s nothing wrong with me, so what are these white coats saying? They let me keep my diary but their eyes are telling me that, for whatever reason, they want their grubby hands on it.
Some things I’ve noticed though, are the voices. They’ve come back.
“Eyes need to be free. Eyes need to be free!”
They took my friends’ eyes but not the two eyes that I haven’t freed yet: my eyes. I want to respond to these lovely voices: YES, YES!
I raise the dinner spoon to my face, smile, and prepare for enlightenment.