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Sorry about the long delay, I wish I could fully tell you what happened, but I honestly don't know. I'll try to make this as comprehensible as possible.

I tried to pack up my stuff as fast as possible. The lights were out and it was too dark outside to see, so I had to use my flashlight to get around.

It felt like the basement again; like the rooms were smaller and airless. Occasionally I would point my flashlight into a dark shadow and it wouldn't disappear immediately. Outside I could hear the sounds of thousands of wings and high, shrill caws.

I got into my room. propping the flashlight on my nightstand and shoved as much into my bag as possible; clothes, money, batteries, phone, tools, computer. I slipped the bag over my shoulder and ran into the living room. I started picking out pieces of my collection that were too important to leave behind. That handful of necklaces from over the years, that porcelain doll, that chunk of calcite, that antique bowl.

I had to take them with me; I couldn't afford to leave them behind.

I turned from the shelves, about to make my way to another set of storage, and he was just there.

No open door, no footsteps, nothing.

His face was obscured in the shadows under his hood; hands hanging limply at his sides. For the first several seconds he just stood there, regarding me, blocking my only exit. Then, very slowly, he reached to his side and withdrew a long, cleaver shaped machete.

He swung at me, almost carelessly, the steel slashing towards my shoulder. I jumped back, shattering the shelf, all of my prizes clattering to the floor as I fell down. He stepped forward, making the same, causal swipe with his sword. I pushed back against the ground, I could feel splinters of glass and pottery working their way into my left hand but I didn't care. He crouched and lowered the blade over my chest; I could see his grimy, pale hand grip the handle slightly tighter.

My right, undamaged hand bumped against something cold and metallic.

I snatched up and swung the crowbar- there was a loud KRACH as the bent end of the tool buried itself in the side of his head and he went limp, sprawling to the side. I struggled to my feet and removed the crowbar with a sharp tug. My hands stung and burned, and my legs felt heavy as I limped to the back door. There was a dull ringing in my head, a vagueness to the situation, the hallway seemed much longer than it should have been. All I had to do was get to the car and drive to a hospital; from there I could keep moving forward.

"Nice swing, dead man."

I turned and He was standing again; machete returned to his hand. His free hand moved to the hood, and he tugged back on it, revealing a helmet. The side was cracked badly, a jagged hole punched through.

TK-2 fighter pilot headgear, chinese in make, now they're used as motorcycle helmets.

His hand moved again, to the tinted visor, and he flipped it up. For a half second I could see only a darkened cavity, then a set of tiny, ebony eyes.

Birds streamed out from the helmet, wings and claws and beaks flailing wildly into the room. I put my hands in front of my face, but they tore into my arms; I could feel them gouging and ripping skin and muscle out of my arms. I remember hearing screaming going on and on and on in the cramped, writhing room.

And something shifted.

The birds were thrown backwards and stripped open, skulls torn out of their feathery bodies; shadowy forms wrapping themselves around the beaks and empty eye sockets. The man began slashing at them wildly, but the silhouettes warped easily around the sword. I bolted to the back door, throwing it open and racing towards my car.

I never got there.

The ground dropped away beneath me, and I fell down into the pit. The last thing I can remember is looking up into a sky filled with millions of birds.

When I woke up I was in a closed office max, my arms and hands had been bandaged roughly, and had mostly healed. Beside me was my pack, as well as a sleeping bag I've never seen before. The doors were able to be unlocked form the inside, and I was able to walk to a nearby hostel to stay the night.

I'm not sure where to go from here. I can't go back home, and I don't even know whats going on.

I suppose I have to find "the man with the memories," or something.

I'll try to post soon.

~Ji