27th December

I forgot again. How could I forget? It’s Jamie’s birthday in 2 weeks. He’ll be 7 and I’m going to miss it. We were going to go to Sydney for his birthday, to see Grandma James. She’s going to bee on stage at the Opera House. She’s going to sing Happy Birthday to Jamie in Italian. They had better still go. I don’t want Jamie missing out, it’s going to be a big surprise for him. He lives hearing her sing, he likes to sing with her, even in other languages. He doesn’t know what the words or the songs mean nut he loves to sing them, specially with Grandma James. She’s much nicer than Grandma Stevens. Grandma S is a holy terror, literally. She scares the living shit out of everyone, even Mum, always has. She reckons she’s Gods favourite child and the rest of us are evil creatures, especially her own daughter (Mum). So we stay away from her. Mum and Dad used to take us to visit her until she started trying to wash Jamie’s face with carbolic soap because he was a ‘Filthy child, just like his mother’. Now she’s in a home and she’s not on our visiting list any more. She’s not allowed around us. Grandma James is great though. Her name is really Jamie (Mum and Dad named Jamie Bug after her), but we call her James so we don’t get mixed up and Jamie gets called Bug (as in Cute As). Now she even has James put on all her show posters and everyone calls her James, she gets a kick out of it too.

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26th December

He washed me. He had real soap and a flannel and a bucket of warm water. I forgot what it was like to wash with warm water and soap. It might even have been perfect if He had let me clean myself, but no, He had to have the privilege of Bathing me Himself. ‘An honour’, He said. Honour my ass. It was disgusting and painful. He used lots of soap on my sores and it stung like flames. ‘Must clean out all those dirty girl spots’. Why couldn’t He just leave me dirty? It didn’t hurt before. Now it does. A lot. He wouldn’t let me get covered afterwards either, said I needed to breathe. I normally just use my mouth for that. All my sores are weeping now that the crust is gone and they stink too. I think I’m rotting. He paid special attention to my stomach, even talking to it like He was a regular Daddy. Telling it all about what a special person He was going to teach it to be, ‘Just like Mummy and Daddy are special’. I wanted to bash Him in the head but I saw the Demon sitting in the very edge of the light. It growled at me like it new what I was thinking and was warning me off. I’m going to kill them all, I swear it. I’m going to.

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24th December

He didn’t come. I’m still here and He’s still alive and it’s still alive and I’m still alive. I don’t know about world peace but none of my other wishes came true. . God, I hope Jamie got his wishes. And Mum and Dad too. They need them. At least He is leaving me alone now. He just comes down to bring me the torch and gruel and then to take the dishes (ha ha) and the torch back. He hasn’t touched me in a couple of days. Maybe He’s finally finished with me and just hasn’t figured out what to do with me. Nope, here He comes again, this time without food, but He does have something. I can’t see what it is, but He looks happy. Bad sign.

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23rd December

It moved. It’s still there. It’s not fair. I guess I’ll just have to add it to my Christmas wish list.
My wish list is this:
1) Wake up and find it’s all been a nightmare.
2) Get out of here.
3) Him dead.
4) It dead.
5) The Demon dead.
6) Me dead?
7) No more pain.
8) World peace.
Anything else would just be icing on the case. See, I’m not greedy.
Santa has about 24 hours to come up with the goods. I’ll settle for just 1 of my wishes if that helps, but all of them would be better. Please Santa, just once give me what I ask for. Not undies for a change. It’s not like when I asked for a million dollars, this is real and much more important.

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22nd December

I have no idea if that’s the right date or not. Probably not, but I’ll go with it anyway. Cause then I can pretend that I’m not completely out of touch with reality. I need to have control over something, even if it’s just what day I think it is. I have no control over any thing else so I need this. I really need this. 2 days till Christmas. I wonder what everyone is getting. Really good stuff I hope. Mum will have mixed up her Knock Ya Socks Off Christmas Cake, and left it to soak before cooking it on the barbie. I know most people bake cakes in the oven, and Mum can do that too, but her Christmas cake is different. She cooks it on the barbie every year, no matter what the weather is. If it’s too wet, she does it in the garage. I don’t know what’s in it (she promised to tell me when I host my first Christmas party), but it’s delicious. KFC eat your heart out, my Mums secret recipe is way better than yours.

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21st December

He say’s it’s all set up. I don’t know what He’s talking about and I don’t care. When I woke up He was on me, in me. He doesn’t give a damn that I’m all torn up and bleeding. He wanted so He took. I can’t stay awake for long, I just keep coming and going, I just wish I didn’t keep coming back here.

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20th December

Is that right? Can’t tell. Jamie Bug needs a present. I have to get him a present for Christmas, it’s just a few days away. I want to get him a big book all about the world and animals and stuff. Nice animals, not like the Demon. Animals like whales and monkeys an the other ones, you know. Big ons an lille ones in the water an on the ground or up in th sky. An a book bout stars an th planets and and an the sky stuff, you know up ther in the university solar sky union. Cold now. No blankets not aloud wasteful greedy so cold burnin cold like ice you kno. An so tired too tired gotta get Jamie Bug a pressie.

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19th December

I’m bleeding. The blood is grey, just like everything else in my death. The Demon took chunks of my skin off. My hands and legs are all torn up and my face, my face is wreaked I think. My nose is torn open and my left eye is bleeding. My mouth is ripped, so are my cheeks. I can barely see, but I can feel. . But the worst part is that He wouldn’t let it near my stomach, but maybe the damage is enough this time. I’m trying to stay awake in case He comes back again. I can’t take any more. The pain is so bad, but I’m losing a lot of blood and I think I have a fever coming on again. I’d say the room is spinning but since I don’t know where the walls are that would be silly. I can’t see much inside the light and nothing outside it so it must be my imagination. Dad always said I had a good imagination, and Mum always said that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if it wasn’t too big for me to control, not that I lied or anything. I just told some really good stories and some people were silly enough to believe them. Jamie loved my stories though. He’d even help me create characters for them. Like Reginald Apple-Tree Jones, the most stuffed shirt gun-slinger of them all. Jamie loves calling people stuffed shirts, and he’s usually right about them too. I know what he’d say about Him, he’d say He’s a clock-chopper, that’s the worst word Jamie knows, and you’d have to be pretty bad for him to call you that. I can’t stay awake anymore. I gotta sleep. Don’t know if I’ll wake up tomorrow. Don’t know if I want to. Don’t care.

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18th December

The first time He introduced me to the Demon was when He wanted to warn me about wanting to be treated like a Queen. All I wanted was some water and He freaked out and let the Demon bite me. At least it was just once that time. Not like this time. He’ll pay. They both will.

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17th December

The pain’s still there, but it seems to be getting better, or at least easing off a bit. He came back while I was sleeping. I woke up and there He was. . Standing there watching me again. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me then left. I’m scared. I don’t know why, I just am. Last time He was like that He burned me. He said I was a Devil child and He had to exorcise me. He burned my hands and feet and then He burned a cross into the back of my head. I got an infection from it and lost a couple more days. Not to mention a big chunk of hair. I don’t know what He ‘s going to do this time, but I’m scared.

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16th December

I’m not dead yet. I still hurt like hell, but somehow, I’m still alive. He hasn’t noticed yet. He hasn’t been down here to notice. I haven’t seen Him in a couple of days.

He hasn’t even brought me any food (if you can call it that) since yesterday morning. I call it morning even though I don’t actually know what time of day it is. This time I’m glad He’s not here, cause if He was He’d try to help, try to save it. And that’s the last thing I want. But I do wonder where He is. If He’s coming back. That’s dumb of course. Of course He’s coming back, He wants to be a Daddy. The pain is getting worse. I can’t ignore it. I need Mum. But I can’t have her, can I? Mum would no what to do. She’d take care of me, make it all right. But Mum’s not here, is she? She’s never here. I’m all alone. They’re all gone, they all left me, they don’t love me, don’t want me anymore, even He doesn’t want me now. I’m all alone. Always alone. No one here, no one cares, no one ever wants to hear, leave her all alone down there. Pain, pain go away, leave me here in peace today. I don’t feel well. Think I’ll have me a bit of a snooze, maybe permanent. Please.

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15th December

I hurt. I hurt, so bad. Cramps on a nuclear scale. I feel as if I’m being ripped open and twisted in knots and set on fire, all at the same time. I think it’s finally dying. I hope it’s finally dying. I kind of hope I’m dying too. Escape, that’s what that would be. Escape.

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14th December

You know, I’ve just realised that in all the time He’s had me here, He’s never even asked me my name. I don’t think He even cares what it is, let alone knows. I’m just an object, a body, a thing, like the thing stretching my stomach. All He calls me is You, or Love, or Whore, or some other bullshit, like that. I have no name. WRONG! I DO HAVE A NAME! SIANNA COLLEEN O’NEILL!!! AND I’M A PERSON, GOD DAMN YOU! YOU ARE THE NOTHING! NOT ME! NOT ME! NOT ME! NOT ME!

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13th December

He gave me a new sack to wear. Grey, of course. I have to get changed in front of Him. I hate that. Having Him look at my naked body is one of the most . humiliating things I have to put up with. He doesn’t touch, just looks. It’s only when I’m dressed that He touches. He says it’s because He wants to show His appreciation and respect by admiring my beauty. And because He I’m His and He doesn’t have to touch me to prove His love. Yeah, that’s right, His love. That’s what He says. He loves me. He doesn’t have any idea what love is. He’s Evil, and evil doesn’t love. I did try to talk Him into proving His love by letting me out, at least for a bit. But He nixed that idea right quick. Que sera sera, or what ever.

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12th December

The first Christmas parties probably started today. I wonder what everyone is doing this year. I wonder what the parties will be like. Nice, I bet. Lots of decorations and food. Lots of fun and colour too. Lots of reds and greens and blues and stuff. As usual, no colour here. I wouldn’t mind a bit of colour. But He would probably hit me if I said anything and I’m too tired to take a chance today. He brought the thing a teddy bear today. The teddy bear is grey. Nuff said.Another one of His games is to ask me what I’d like for dinner. Doesn’t matter cause He won’t give me anything different. He teases me with the thought of chicken and fresh vegetables. I don’t like chicken, but it’s not gruel and I love veggies. What a prize bastard. He made me cry sort of, earlier. By asking me if I’d like some peaches. Jamie Bug loves peaches. When He saw that He had hurt me with that He smiled and asked me ‘What could possibly be wrong?’ I wouldn’t tell Him. I wonder if my taste buds still work. Be nice to find out. He’s coming back now, early. Wonder what He wants this time. Duh!

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11th December

I still feel sick. Worse actually. Probably because He stayed with me last night. I wish He wouldn’t touch me. But He does, constantly. He likes to hold me close when He sleeps. He thinks it’s cosy. I think it’s creepy and I told Him so. I gotta learn to keep my mouth shut. I don’t even feel it though when He hits me anymore. I think my nerves are too damaged from all the shit He’s done to me. Either that or all the scars are too thick for the pain to get through them. I think I’d probably been here about a month when He started playing The Game. What’s The Game? Sick and cruel. He suggested He would let me out for an hour if I was extra good . I was a perfect angel. Then He said ‘We can’t go out today little girl, it’s raining’. I could have killed Him on the spot if I could have reached Him, and He knew it. He just smiled and said ‘Maybe tomorrow’. He plays The Game at least twice a month, but I just ignore Him. At least I pretend to. A part of me still gets my hopes up, even though I know it’s just His sick Game. He likes to come up with new torments on a semi regular basis. Too often they work.
I think I can see the thing growing. It’s getting harder to ignore. I figure I must be about 4 or 5 months infected by now so I’ll probably succumb around April or May. Where is all this grown up language coming from. I don’t want to be a real grown up. I wonder who Damien took to the ball. I wonder if he or Marcus even went. I hope so. I hope they are all having a real good time. Next week is the last week of school for the year. I missed so much, I’ll probably have to repeat the year to catch up. If I was alive.

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10th December

I was sick again today. He acted like it was something special. I don’t care anymore. It’s happening and there doesn’t seem to be a whole hell of a lot I can do about it either, so I’m trying a new tactic. Ignore it and hope it goes away. With my luck, I’ll end up with twins or triplets.Next instalment. After failing to befriend Him into letting me go, I tried sulking. That went down like a lead balloon. I crashed and burned with being a bitch too. So I tried to fight Him. Real smart, Not! That’s when I got a taste of His BAD SIDE. That’s what He called it. His BAD SIDE, capital letters and all. He beat the crap out of me. Broke my toes on my left foot. Split my lip and left my face the size and consistency of an over sized watermelon. The footprints He left on my belly were an interesting decoration for a while too. I decided then that it might be in my best interest to behave for a while. That was the first time He Rewarded me. I really don’t know which is worse, His Punishment or His Reward. At least with His Punishment I don’t have to see His face, since He leaves the torch off. Unfortunately that means I can’t tell what He’s going to do next. But the dark does make it easier to leave in my head. When He Rewards me He shines the torch in my eyes most of the time and Shit does that hurt. My eyes are really sensitive now from being in the dark most of the time, so when I have the torch I lean it on my leg to shine down away from my eyes. I started getting sick from the so-called food He gave me. I couldn’t keep it down. A lot of that had to do with taste I think. It was FOUL, still is. Grey food from a grey man in a grey box. He called it nutritional, I called it crap. He hit me for that and told me to be grateful because it’s more than some people get in a week in poor countries. I said ‘Aren’t they lucky, if they want it they can have it’. Pleased He was not. Too bad. God, I feel sick again. This is getting old fast.

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9th December

I think it’s Debra’s birthday today. Debra was a friend from school. She was almost a year older than me, now I’m the old one. She always invited me to her parties and we had fun. We used to be SO superior. I wonder if she’s changed? I have.
He started talking about names for the thing. He thinks Josef would be a good name, strong and proud. He wants it to be a boy, but He also wants it to be a girl just like Mummy. I don’t want it at all. Like that’s news.
Back to what happened. I decided that since nothing else would work, maybe I should try to be friendly to Him, you know, make Him kike me, let me go. I tried to find out His name, He told me to call Him friend (HUH?!), so I did. I asked Him to let me go to the toilet, He pointed to the bowl and said ‘There you go’. I told Him that if He let me go, I wouldn’t tell anyone, ‘Trust me’, I said. ‘No’, He said. I asked Him for a brush or comb, something to tidy my hair with. He cut it off. I asked Him where we were. He just said ‘Home’. I lost it. I started screaming and yelling, ‘This isn’t my home. My home is with my friends and my family and my school and my stuff. This isn’t my home.’ He just smiled and smacked me again. It’s not fair. He’s never going to let me go. I know that now. I wish I was at Debra’s party. I’d never be a superior bitch again. But that’s never going to happen.

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8th December

Why can’t I stop thinking and writing about the past? Maybe because I know I’m never going to get out of here alive, and I hope that someone will find this diary and know that I was here that I lived and died here, and maybe they’ll care just a bit, and maybe they’ll tell my family. And my family will know that I loved them and I was always thinking of them, and I didn’t give up (well, not often, anyway), and that I don’t blame them and they aren’t to blame themselves. Shit happens, as they say (whoever ‘they’ are). Anyway after the first week or so I couldn’t talk anymore, let alone scream, and I was starving, because I refused to eat or drink anything. He did manage to force feed me a little (oww!!) bit, but not enough to stop me passing out from hunger or malnutrition. When I woke up again, He told me that if I didn’t stop acting like a naughty little girl He would have to Punish me. I told Him to go ahead and Punish me, what did I care. What did I know?! He did Punish me. And it hurt worse than anything I ever imagined. I think I went into shock, it was like He had torn me in half. I don’t remember much after that, just blood and pain. Lots of blood and lots more pain. And Him. My first clear memory after that was Him telling me that if I was good He would reward me. I still haven’t figured out the difference. Pain is pain is pain. His Punishing rewards came almost everyday and all that changed was me. I learned I could stop feeling, I could close my mind and leave, go away somewhere else. I like to go and see the sunset best cause then it doesn’t matter so much that I can’t see the colours, that I only see grey, all different shades, but still all only grey. That’s another thing that’s changed. I don’t see colour anymore, even in my head. There is no colour to see here, just darkness and grey. Well, on with my story. When I first woke up, He had taken my things, including my clothes, and left me a grey sack-like thing He called ‘A suitable dress for a young lady’. Once a week He brings me a cleanish one to change into (at least I think it’s once a week), and a plastic bowl of cold water to wash with. Sometimes He even brings me a sliver of foul smelling soap (I think it’s soap) and a rag to dry myself with, but that’s only every now and again. Thinking about it makes me realise how BAD I smell right now. Aargh, Phew, Oinker, do I pong something fierce.

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7th December

It’s still moving.
Lately I’ve been thinking about when this all started. I was just walking down to the shop to pick up Dads present and there He was. He was standing on the footpath holding a map and looking lost and He asked me ‘Do you know where the Box is, miss?’ and that’s when my life ended. When I woke up, I was in here, in this place, this hole, with Him standing there looking at me. I screamed and He just stood there. I tried to get up, to get out, but when I stood I found the chains on my legs. He had actually chained me to the floor. I couldn’t believe it. Shackles and chains, chains and shackles, like an animal. That was when I really realised I was in big trouble, that He had actually kidnapped me. I yelled, and fought the chains but it didn’t do any good, He just stood there watching, with a weird kind of smile on His ugly face. For the first few days He didn’t even say anything, He just came in and stood there looking, watching. I tried to threaten Him, to scare Him, to anger Him, anything, but nothing worked. He just kept right on staring. So I tried begging. That’s when He spoke. ‘Such a good girl, such a good little girl. Now you’re starting to see how it’s supposed to be’. That scared me more than anything else. The way He said it, the way He looked at me when He spoke, that’s what told me He didn’t take me for money, and He wasn’t just crazy, He was insane, and insane people are more dangerous than anyone else, cause you never know what they’re going to do, if they’re going to be violent or what. Well, I found out fast. ‘A smack a day keeps the naughty thoughts away’. That’s what He said. Even now I’m still just as terrified of Him and His bad ideas. I need sleep now, and He’s coming again anyway, so it’s time to visit the grey sun in my head.
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6th December

Why did this have to happen to me? I’m not a bad person. I’m not. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I never even saw Him before. He was just a stranger, just like Mum and Dad warned me about when I was just a kid. Why couldn’t they have kept warning me? Didn’t they care? Didn’t they love me anymore, now that I’m grown up? Am I too old to be love now that I’m not all young and cute and cuddly like Jamie is? God Jamie, I hope you never get too big to be loved. I hope they never stop loving you. And I hope they never stop warning you about strangers. I hope you are always safe and warm and loved at home. The thing is moving, I think. I wish it weren’t, I wish it were dead. I wish I could wake up and find it’s all been a really bad dream. I wish the shaking wake up first thing were Jamie waking me up instead of Him. I need you Jamie, to come and shake me awake.

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5th December

He showed me the picture again today. Says He’ll let me see it every day if I’m a good girl. Keep it, you fuck!

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4th December

I saw a bird today. It was only a picture (black and white, of course), but it was a bird. I couldn’t say anything at all. It’s been so long since I saw a bird that I didn’t realise what it was at first. And when I did, I couldn’t say anything. Isn’t that stupid? And He just stood there smiling, then He said ‘Well?’ , like I should say thank you or something. He took the real birds away from me and He thinks I should thank Him for showing me a picture of one. He took the picture away too in the end, said He didn’t want me tearing it or anything.

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3rd December

I miss colours. I need colours. Everything is grey. Even me. My hands, my legs, everything. Grey. He’s grey too. But then He always was. A grey man in a grey van. At least I think it was grey. He was grey anyway. Grey skin, grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes. Everything about Him was and still is grey. Grey, that’s all I’ve seen for 9 months. I don’t think I’d recognise colours now if I ever saw them again, and I probably never will, so I guess there’s no point in dwelling on it then, is there?
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2nd December

He hit me again, this time more and worse than before, but still not enough o fix the problem, unfortunately. I’ve been taking stock of my past and present injuries. I’m a mess. I can feel where He broke bones in my cheeks, I can see them in my hands, and I can still feel them in the rest of my body. Lots of scars too. Good thing I don’t have a mirror, I’d hate to see what I look like. What would Mum and Dad think? I’d scare Jamie too. It’s his birthday soon. Just another 5 weeks. January 10th. He’ll be 7. Oh shit, I want to cry so much it hurts. Everything hurts. It’s not hormones. It’s not. I just miss him so much. I want to be home with them so much it hurts in my heart. I try not to think about them, cause that’s when it hurts the most. But lately I just keep thinking about peaches and tomatoes and hamburgers. And now my mouth is starting to water. Life is so unfair.

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Chapter 5 - December 1998 -1st December

I’m tired, so tired, but He wont let me sleep. Say’s ‘Too much sleep is bad for the baby’, like I should care. Give me a bottle of anti-freeze and a carton of cigarettes and leave me be, then we’ll see what the baby thinks. Not much, methinks.

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30th November

He took my writing stuff away, because I was honest with Him. He doesn’t see that if He’s going to ask a dumb fucking question like ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ I’ll give Him an honest answer. I just want this to be over, is that too much to ask? Apparently.

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27th November

Less than a month till Christmas, big deal. He wanted to know what I wanted, so I told Him. Me out, Him dead, and the thing vacuumed out of me. He smacked me in the face for that. He asked!

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26th November

Happy Birthday Mum. I Love You.
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25th November

He’s starting to get offended by my increasing swearing. Tough shit! He tries to put it down to hormones. Just doesn’t get that it’s Him. Fuck Him!

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24th November

No such luck yet. But at least the food is improving. Sort of. It has colour now, I think. Well it’s a different shade of grey now anyway. Still tastes like shit tough.

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