June 21st,

"I suppose in order for my first entry to make sense to the future me or anyone else reading this, I assume that previous text would've been very confusing, I'm not sure, my mother has always said I have trouble remembering things, let me remind myself where the starting point was.

This was during summer, I graduated high school and then moved out. It was an idea I had for a while and it's quieter now that I've made the decision. No one around my safe space to judge me as I try to ignore the crawling things around the corners that no one else sees.

Inflation in 2022 is fricking awful, rent everywhere was in the thousands and I spent most of my money on the first impulse purchase I ever made. I don't know why. Maybe it was just because I liked driving, all the weird faces and floating bodies I would see or imagine, I don't know, they'd pass by too quickly for me to notice when I was driving, it made me feel free from everything.

Grandma from dad's side had this inn, a lighthouse inn. She said I could live there for cheap, so long as I watched over it in her place. She can't since she's in a nursing home now and the hospice nurses had no plans of moving or transferring her. I think she took both pity and was mocking me, probably thinking I'll treat her inn as some haunted place. Then again, I'm not good at reading people, but it's a nagging thought I have.

I remember driving to the place with all of my things; managed to squeeze it all into just a big luggage and a duffle bag big enough to be a canoe for a toddler to float down the river. I remember selling some of my useless stuff to some other guys I knew before leaving school.

The lighthouse inn... How do I describe it? It was nice on the outside, cute almost. There was a cottage core house with a light house attached to the side. It wasn't that tall but had that usual light that spins around for the boats sailing in the water, it wasn't too close to the cliff above the water either so that helped my paranoia a bit, though I don't know why I cared....

I remember stepping out of my new convertible, well- it was technically a vintage. Cheaper.

I remember stepping out and seeing the place and seeing the soft and fluffy grass surrounding the place and the path to it. The air was this cool kind of humid, thick and warm, nice.

A nice door, painted this rich color of red with a wreath decoration, hanging with the window of the door perfectly in the middle. Now, see, that would've been pretty if it weren't for the fact I knew I'd be seeing creepy figures sticking their faces to stare at me through the cute round window at night, or maybe even during the day.

I made a mental note to avoid that door window at night as I went inside, looking back to make sure my trunk was locked. Summers were the busiest for a lot of things, so I came a little later in the afternoon, it was already sunset.

Grandma told me that the current people working there was just some old friends of hers. Some already had their grandkids part-timing at the place now that it was summer, but the main ones in charge were an old couple.

But they were nice, and I told them about my situation along with what my grandmother offered me, even though it made me feel sick to confess it. The pity, guilt, I felt sick to my stomach, but I never let it show.

The idea of working at the lighthouse was honestly fine to me, I knew how to cook, I could clean just fine and it's not like the guests come to this place to stay in their rooms. The Wi-Fi is awful here, but the lighthouse is the main attraction. There are no ghost stories about the place, neither real nor fake, no real ones, I could tell based on the lack of how unwatched I felt, or perhaps those things hadn't caught up to me yet, and no fake ghost stories about the place either because the couple didn't want those.

One of them, the old man, his name was Joel, offered to help carry my bags to the room I could stay in. I declined. It wasn't much. The old lady, Annie, insisted but I still couldn't take it.

It was like I had traveled back in time when I walked through the place fully instead of just standing in the neat office and lobby.

1900s interior design. I couldn't remember the name before but here now in this other building I ended up in a little later, I looked it up.

Art Deco. Like the 1920s interior, so I think I knew how it kept such good business despite the competition, the cottage core on the outside was nice but the inside was rich and lavish-like, even though it also seemed a bit dry.

Just wooden carving designs for the interior, instead of a bunch of picture frames there was this huge scrap book filled with photos of tourists who took photos by the lighthouse and the surrounding area with descriptions underneath.

It looks like one of the part-timers worked as a photographer for any visitors.

There were no flower vases, little tables or carpets., just some grips on the stairs as Annie led me up the stairs.

The inn had two floors in the main building, and two sets of stairs. One led into the lighthouse tower, which is where they said my room was. It was a big place, and they said I'd be helping to make sure the light worked, and I'd need to buy thicker curtains for the windows if I wanted. The fabric was so thin it was still letting light through, the old couples liked it, but not me because I could easily imagine seeing a silhouette behind those curtains like I always used to with other fabrics, blankets weren't as comforting to me as a kid.

The lighthouse has four floors, including the top open floor where the huge light is, my room was on the third. I'm not sure if I'll still live in this room in the future, but future me reading this will know that.

It was cozy, the bed and covers had this dusty smell not like it was dirty it was just a scent, but I liked it. It smelled calming, a bit of dust was like the smell of time freezing in place, it also smelled like the past thanks to a hint of cigarette in the air, Annie promised no one had smoked in this room in years, but the more lavish visitors used to frequently in the 1900s, so it just stuck.

I nodded but deep down I didn't care. I don't smoke and I doubt I would in the future, but whenever I smelled cigarette smoke, I always thought it smelled sort of nice. There was a little dresser, no closet, but an antique wardrobe they said I could put my clothes in. I've always wanted to see an antique wardrobe and now I got to use one.

I was told that if I couldn't find a job, they could use a security guard to watch the cameras at night. I think I mentally rolled my eyes at Grandma who was definitely mocking me at this point. Back when I had faith in her still, I told her of the things that haunted me, looking back, I was a naive fool.

I needed to find a good job, or at least one that didn't mind my paranoia, though that in itself felt like a big ask at the time. The inn was nice, it got customers and tourists, it just didn't have much open positions.

The drive from the High Sea Lighthouse (I'm not sure if future me will have forgotten this so I'll just put this here) to the city, from the near cliff side to further inland was a few miles away.

Usually, the eighteen-year-olds would go to fast food places or stores or gas stations or anywhere at the mall for a job. And I applied to those places back then, I tried again just a couple days before I moved out of the house. Of course, they either weren't hiring, were hiring but I couldn't reach their qualifications, or I kept messing up the interviews.

I wish I could ignore them, but every time I stare down a dark doorway or look at a mirror, I'll see that creature with its elongated, drooping mouth, staring and coming towards after every blink, but it's not there. Or other times, it's this thing crawling on the floor, using its jaw to move since the spine can't actually slither like a snake, and the bits of flesh still on make it slippery.

Most of the time in mirrors in the dark, even just briskly passing by them, I'll see that woman mimicking me in a version that's greyed out with oily hair and teeth, like metal toothpicks, too many for each jaw and too long to fit in the mouth.

None of the interviewers knew what I could see, I tried hard to keep my eyes focused on them the way I practiced. I even ignored the vents when I felt the eyes rolling through to follow me through the building pipes. Yet I still failed to hide it.

My eyes must've darted, or I focused too hard at maintaining eye contact with the interviewer. They didn't seem in a rush to hire anyone any way, probably just looking at their options.

I really missed my old job at this big bookstore place. The owner purposefully let people think it was haunted in some way and actually wanted me there, I could flinch at the things no one else could see and he nor the other workers would give me trouble for the jumpy reactions I used to have. Sure, I was basically used like a customer magnet as that paranoid character, but it was alright, because it made my boss and coworkers more business, which made them happy. I was happy and didn't feel worried about my presence there.

Though I eventually had to quit. Long story, I don't think I'd forget that and even if I did, it'd probably be for the best.

It was, I think 7pm when I went out job searching? Online doesn't get me fast enough results nowadays, or for anyone for as much as I knew.

It got dark pretty quickly; the sun went down about as quickly as my hopes of finding another job. I could see faces, or, bodies of things, and I forcibly blink or shake my head to stop seeing them.

I saw those things more often at night, but I could ignore them if I was in a crowd, or near a lit-up building with people.

The gas station I was at wasn't all that comforting but something good did happen there.

The receipt wouldn't print, I had to go inside to ask the cashier for it. I remember shivering not because it was old but because I remember seeing this person-shaped silhouette, skin like that of a potato sack, and no face. I remember seeing all that for just the couple seconds I walked through the dark to get inside and closed the door behind me quickly.

I noticed some other people around my age walking around the isles, looking for snacks. How I figured out they were around my age is because I heard about them talking about the internships and part-time jobs they managed to land at this place. I would also end up working with them just a little later.

I felt my chest cave in with envy and made sure not to make eye contact as I passed them by, going up to the cashier.

Considering my history of always feeling watched, I didn't bother to look over my shoulder when I heard footsteps eerily lose to me. Probably should've.

One of those kids, the tall blonde woman, she had a long-braided ponytail, it looks more like rope.

She grabbed my shoulders before I could leave after getting my receipt, just spun me around and gave me this eerie smile, and then stepped back to tip her head like she was bowing. Pretty whimsical she was when I met her.

"Hello!" Her bright voice said, holding out a hand for me to shake.

"Uhh,,, Hello?" I remember responding, I hesitantly took her hand like I was worried she had a thumb tact between her fingers and was just preparing to stab me with it.

"You're eighteen, right?" She asked me, almost getting in my face.