Day 1.

I’m still confused. The world’s  blurry and dark and my head spins when I try to move.But nonetheless I still have to try. I have to figure out what happened here. Where ‘they’ went. Where I am.

After I... ‘regained consciousness,’ I suppose, I started looking around. As much as I could anyway. My legs are still shaky and my vision still goes blurry when I move too much, but I managed to drag myself out of that hallway and into a nearby room. Something told me I shouldn’t dally out there for too long. The paintings might get hungry. Wait, what? “The paintings might get hungry”? Where did I get that from? That’s something that’s been happening a lot, too. I get these weird thoughts, and I don’t know where they came from. Perhaps some part deep inside me that still remembers what happened. How I got here. What happened to my friend, what the walls did. 

I also found this journal while I was looking around the room. It was hidden under the dresser. There’s some other writing in here, too, on the first few pages. Writing that looks familiar. It’s not mine, though, at least I think. The handwriting is different. I wish I could read what was written there, it might help me figure out what’s going on. Most of the entries have been scratched out, dripped on by some sort of liquid until the ink bled enough it can’t be read, or even torn out of the journal entirely. Only the first few remain untouched, but those aren’t much help. They’re just as confused as I am.