Dear Diary,

I know, I know, I know, I should be at school, taking my finals, taking the annual field trip to literal hell, drinking hot coco, roasting pig intestines on an open fire and getting into the holiday spirit, but before you reprimand me, let me speak.

I work the day shift with young, intern version of Professor Branigan, restocking shelves, working the register, cleaning out the dimension void aisle, helping customers, sacrificing souls to the Net Neutrality God, all the regular kind of stuff you do at a craft store.

What it is most interesting is lunch breaks with Achava. We eat in the break room and eat our lunches and talk. It is nice.

"Well, I mean, I kinda wanted to take down an authoritarian government or like, I dunno be a writer," said Achava through bites of her Brutus Salad, ", but I mean, being an intern is cool too, I am on like, level 13 of the intern program,"

"What program?" I asked taking a bite into my Eggs Washington.

"Oh, the umm, ugh I forget the name all the time, the umm, ugh I don't know, but they have a lot of smaller companies and stuff," Her confusion seemed performed, "Are you like a intern, Vince?"

"Oh, uh, no..I'm, I'm a convict soo.." I said, internally cringing at myself.

"OH my god, sorry, sorry," she said.

"You are fine, Achava," I said with a laugh.

The conversation went on, but ... conversation just wanders to other topics with her. It is just that when she talking she is so enthusiastic and sweet, and her face lights up and she always is such a good listener and... sorry,sorry, I am getting off topic.
She usually avoids specifics about her past and internship, but a recent conversation was illuminating.
I was trying to tell if she was an intern with @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. , which I suspected. I brought it up in the most covert way possible.
"Hey, my cousin mentioned that he works at this Ghost server company, Grotto, uh, A Grotto G S M something? It kinda sounds like your internship?" I asked.

"oh, um, yeah that's it's name," She said.

"Did you ever work at the um, whats it called? the umm Grotto something maker?" God, I have no such thing as subtlety.

"Oh yeah!GROTTO pop maker! I worked with two people, Racheal and Sasha," Her eyes darkened, "why?"

"He just mentioned working at one," I said.

"Whats his name?"

"Um, Moppy," I internally screamed.

"Moppy?"

"Yeah, Moppy, that is my cousins name, Moppy,"

She giggled,"Cool, cool, did he,um ever work in the New York Curriculum guides group?"

"I, uh, dunno, what was it?"

"Oh, it was just like a, um, guides for teachers, teaching, um, history. Anyways, He probably didn't, it was a select group,"

So, I know three things:
a- She works at my previous employer.
b- She workered at a GROTTO pop maker. (I learned to ask this, because of the Commissioned Writings, Intern #00814, GROTTO G.S.M article on being an intern, I can't remember much of it, but that lots of interns start at GROTTO pop makers.
c- She probably thinks, I am a complete weirdo who pretends to have a cousin named, Moppy.
I know, I know, I know, you don't want me to be doing this.
I know, I know, I am not getting enough info for how much time I am staying here.
I know you think that I should be at school do better things, doing things high schoolers are supposed to do like go to class, email their senators about Net Neutrality talk to their friends, email their senators about Net Neutrality, study, email their senators about Net Neutrality and sacrifice snacks to the school ghost, but I can't...

I can't just leave this behind, I can't ignore all of this, I can't ignore what I have seen, heard, felt. I can't ignore this regardless of your approval.
What am I saying? You, don't exist...
I do.
and I am not mad at myself anymore.
I am doing what I need to do. I'm...
I'm not doubting myself anymore.

Unsure and Certain,
Ava Elisabeth

"Professor Branigan?" I coughed.

"Professor?!" She laughed, "I wish! I'm just a intern. Do I look like someone you know?"

"Uh, um yes, you do,"

"A professor you had?" She said with a smile.

"No, no, I didn't have her, but she was, um... She teaches a class at my school,"

"Oh cool! Well, is there anything you are looking for? Yarn, Glitter, Goat Hearts?"

"Um, I..." What words could explain me? How could my disheveled self explain that I had met her, this pretty,young intern, as a adult, as a professor? How could I explain the ominous horror that filled my soul each time I thought about that grave on the hill? How could I explain the bouncy house? How could I explain the notes? How could I explain my behavior?

"Oh my gosh," She said, hitting her head with her palm, "Are you Vince? Oh my god, I am so sorry, Marco told me you were coming today, but I just totally forgot about it, not that your forgettable, your not forgettable, I just I didn't,"

She paused then laughed, "I am sorry, I am such a mess. Let me go grab your papers,"

She jaunted off, her long black braid swinging behind her. She pushed through two swing doors and dispersed into the backroom.

I know, I know what you are thinking. "Ava, really? REALLY? You didn't tell her you were just a customer or something? You are making terrible decisions!!!" I know I am making horrible decisions, but what am I suppose to do!Just leave, just walk out of the store. I definitely, would not be able to come back after that and...
and I have to figure this out.

She was back, "Okay... So you are with the um," She leaned and whispered, " Recovering Convicts program,"

"Um, yeah" I immediately regretted saying it.

"And... Your case manager is Yekaterina Reina from Ciudad-Rusa?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Yekaterina Reina? I dunno?"

"Can, Can I see that?"

"Sure," She said passing it over.

The file was of the detail of a life lived. I felt guilty.

"I, um..."

"OH! I almost forgot, Let me go get your ID tag!" She rushed off.

"Shit." I muttered.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I muttered.

"Shit." I muttered.

She came back in.
"Okay, sorry about that!! Here it is!,"

I took the card into my hands. Awe spread over my body.

"They said, if you wanted to change out the photo later, you could, but your case manger said that this was good for now."

Yekaterina Reina, Cuidad-Rusa, Professor Branigan had mentioned them before.

"Which I hope is okay with you. Is that okay with you?" She said.

"Yeah, it is perfect,"

In the place for the photo, stood my face, grinning back at me.

"This is perfect,"

Dear Diary,

I have not written from a while. I know, I know, I should, but there has been a good change. a change at least. I have taken an job at Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby, a store just north of school.
No, I am not attending class.
Yes, I know this is an unwise decision.
but it is a important decision.

I was sleeping in my dorm. @Cave Girl Claire was sleeping deeply. It was the October 24th. I was reading through @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. 's journal.
A knock on the window.
I looked up. Nothing there. I turned back, re-huddling and re-hunching over my laptop, my eyes burning tired.
Another knock.
I looked up again. This time a little closer. Nothing there. I turned back, a bit more unease filling my face.
No more knocks the rest of the night. The next morning I looked out to the window.
It was just a limb of a tree, I concluded, being blown about in the wind.
But then I saw it.

A pastel piece of rubber, stuck in the limbs of the tree. It edges rough, as if it had been torn.

I reached out and picked it up.
One side a purple hazmat symbol, the other a message in sharpie:

i am sorry, love. here, this should help:

Below it printed the address of my current employer,

Shelly's Hollow Heart Craft & Hobby.

My first trip there was that morning.
I know, a bad decision, skipping out on class and my friends, but let's be honest, I have not been making rational decisions for a long time. I think that I couldn't let this ghost just float away. This ghost of half dreamed nightmare. I can't let it go. I would rather be this than the same as always. Maybe. or maybe... no I won't consider it.

The store front was the store front of the common chain craft store, uniform, clean, boring. Everything you would expect.

I walked in and a ding ran from the doorway bell.

It was just what you would expect, a craft store.

I looked around for a moment, but disappointment filled up my thoughts.
Yarn
Glitter
Paint
Wood
Hot Glue
Everything you would expect.

Then she walked up to me. A short and round girl with an unexpected and pretty Welsh accent. She was dressed casually, but the colors seemed perfectly suited for her dark and polite features. "Hi! Can I help you?" she said.

Her name tag read:

Achava Branigan


(part 1/2)

Dear Diary,

I was in the Gloria Allred Law Library looking for information on @grOTTO G.S.M INC. , who have still not replied to my complaints. I couldn't find anything on them, so I asked for a copy of their journal entries.

Before I could even crack open the book, Professor Achava Branigan from UPWARD MOBILITY AND THE MODERN WORKER stopped next to me.

"Hi! Ava, is it?" She said, in a unexpected and pretty Welsh accent. She was dressed well in a relaxed fall outfit that complimented her dark and polite features.

"Oh, um, yes. You teach that.. that class, right?" I said, startled.

"I do! Looks like you have some interesting reading there! What's it for?" She said.

"Just a, um, research project," I said.

"Well, In that case, I might have something that could be of use!" She swung her delicate bag onto table and pulled out a sheet of paper, "This is a great source, but I don't know if it can be credited, you know college standards and all, but if you have questions, you know where I am!"

She jaunted off as quickly as she had arrived.

I looked at the paper:

Dear Ava Elisabeth,
I understand that you are worried about your friend and you are worried about your school, but what you are looking for is not something you should look for.
I looked and look where I am.
Feeling, Smelling, Tasting, Speaking, but not for myself.
Please, You will be better off.
A

I walked out of library frantically, trying to find her, but she was gone.
Gone into the mist that covered the school in a ominous blanket.
Her exit as miraculous and mysterious, as the paper in my hand.

What does this mean?

Ava Elisabeth

Dear Diary,
Since the tenth, I have received this message on everyone of my posts.

YOUR POST DOES NOT MEET COMMUNITY GUIDELINES AND HAS BEEN FLAGGED BY OUR InvaSivBOTS™. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS CONTACT @GROTTO G.S.M. INC.

So, @GROTTO G.S.M. INC., I have a couple of questions and comments.
#1 Why is it exactly that my journal doesn't meet "community guidelines"? In fact,

#2 Where are these, so called, "community guidelines"? This journal was given to me, so I could write anything I wanted to, and I sure as heck did not get introduced to these "community guidelines"!! And

#3 Why is this showing up on innocuous posts?!! All I have tried to write about is the hazmat suit I saw in the coat room and the... and the thing I saw at my window, both of which are not offensive, even by earthling standards. Oh and don't let me forget

#4 WHY DID MY INITIAL POST APPEAR ON YOUR FREAKING JOURNAL!?!?!?
If our school journal system has this mysterious community guidelines that are enforced by "InvaSivBOTS™", then how would my post end up on your journal!! Journals at Psychic High are processed through Singular Time Streams to remove contamination, not Classical Cross-Time River. CCTR would be the only explanation, even then it is unlikely. THERE IS NO REASON MY POST IS ON YOUR JOURNAL!! The only other explanation could be that one of your employees posted it with intent, which is far fetched at best.

So, @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. , what is your explanation? That it is April Fool's Day? That I am seeing things? Oh, I know,

You are lying to everyone.


Distrusting, Disillusioned, and 100% done,
Ava Elisabeth

Dear Diary,

School has been relatively chill lately, so I took the opportunity to take a stroll to the Olde Candy Shoppe ran by an adorable ghost couple, Hugo and Francisco, who sell delicious Mexican and American candies and treats. It is sooo good, I spent like fifty dollars just in their majestic caramels. I would recommend the shop, but I can't really give proper directions. I always end up like ,"I think it is just past the cemetery and the Dean's office ? I don't really know, but I am sure you can figure it out," and then no one goes, because a ghost candy shop sounds weird, even for Psychic High.

Anyways, I am back to my normal classes and honestly, I am kind of sick of Mr. Shakespeare. He goes on and on and on, talking in soliloquys and poetry, like come on, you are teaching AP Biology ,not How to not speaking English class. I know it's rude, but his "plays" that he puts on are such a drag, like stay in your lane weirdo. No one wants to hear about a freaking danish prince or like Julius Caesar, like that guy is sooo 100 BC. Besides Mrs. Nottage is much better.

I also have to say that having @Clave Girl Claire , while a bit inconvenient is actually quite enjoyable. Claire is a fantastic chef and keeps everything impeccably clean, as well as apparently being very knowledgeable on a Theoretical and Experiment Physics.
The inconvenient part is that her saber tooth tiger, Spiffy, and my carnivorous Banana watermelon hybrid, Kalingrad, have decided that the closet is theirs now. Overall, It is great to finally have a roommate.


Content
Ava Elisabeth

Dear Diary,

Today I found @Cave Girl Claire inside my closet covered in the remnanats of my Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Apparently "Maybe I'll just sort of camp out in their room till somebody turns up," means, eventually break in and eat a ton of ice cream and pass out on an old bean bag in the closet and sleep in a sugar coma for multiple days , until someone enters the room and hears me snoring.

Now I KNOW it sounds stupid, like how did I not notice a fulling grown person and a saber tooth tiger curled up in my closet, especially since all the ice cream was eaten and dairy doesn't smell good after a while. I haven't been spending a lot of time in the dorm, since I got back.

I have mostly been chilling with @xiirth . (I go with them to all their classes, except UPWARD MOBILITY AND THE MODERN WORKER. During that class period, I go and talk to the school councilor for bit.) So, really it is not unreasonable that I did not notice Claire in my room.

Upon meeting Claire, It was explained that the whole sleeping in the closet situations was because, Claire wanted to be my roommate, which I gladly accepted. I gave her my new bed from @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. and for myself installed a hammock. She doesn't have a lot of belongings, which is really great. Also, Spiffy and Kalingrad are bffs!!!

With Rückkehrunruhe,

Ava Elisabeth

(2/2)


My breathing was stilted and rough I climbed up the hill. It seemed like there was a child pulling at my sleeve, telling me to stop. My whole body seemed to dread the climb up. The walk seemed to take hours, even though the hill was not tall.

As I pulled the last of my being to the top of the hill, I looked out into the foggy graveyard. It was well tended, grass green, the native plants looking healthy and fresh. Each gravestone in identical white marble. It was well tended for, well kept. Overall peaceful looking,but it was not peaceful, not scary, or anything it was... not right.

The sound was dead, no crickets or sound of crunching leaves. Just a dead silence. The air tasted stale, like it came from a time capsule, not opened for hundreds of years. It smelt dry, like an overly carbonated drink or conversation with past love. It felt soggy, not like out-of-the-swimming-pool soggy, but like sweat caked on old gym shirts.

It wasn't right, not wrong, like I said, but not right.

As I leaned into observe one of the gravestones, I heard the noisy squeak of rubber boots. I turned quickly to see a person in a pastel colored hazmat suit holding a clipboard and another walking, their tall black rubber boots squeaking.

The Squeaky-Booted person froze and and the Clipboard person stopped writing. Promptly, the Clipboard person smacked the Squeaky booted on the face with their clipboard and walked over to me and with one quick swoop cracked the clipboard across my head.


That's the extent of what I remember. I blacked out post clipboard-crack-age-across-the-head. Now I am back in my dorm room. Alone. It is dark and windy outside and the light bulb is out. I woke up on my bed, a new Trans-Dimensional Shape Foam Bed from @GROTTO G.S.M. INC. .

There is no evidence that any of this happened. I am afraid... I am afraid something is wrong... with me. The new beds are notorious or rather celebrated for creating wild dreams, but I was convinced it was real.

After awaking, I ran out into the hall screaming, a old baseball bat in hand, to find the pastel suited people. Instead, I found @Big Jim giving a tour of the grounds to a family. After a heavy amount of glare, @Big Jim moved on and I retreated back to my dorm.


Did this happen?


Ava Elisabeth

Dear Diary,

The @Level 8 Bouncy House took me to graveyard. As we approached, The House slowed and knelt, it's long muscular legs retracting into it's bouncy exterior. The graveyard was on a hill covered in ominous mist and wet, dewy grass.

After sitting for what seemed hours, I slid off, onto the fall ground, with it's cape of bright leaves. I walked to the front of The House. It's face was like a dog minus the ears and the existence of flesh, it was all just vinyl inflated with air. It stared up at the graveyard.

"Who are you?" I said.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Who made you?" I said.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"What do you want me to say, what are your pronouns, what is your name, what is your favorite painting?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"
The House stared at the graveyard.
"What do you want?" I said wearily.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you..."
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you want me to..."
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you want me to go," I said breathlessly.My throat seeming to pull the words away from my tongue, " Do you want me to go up there, to that graveyard?"
The moment the the words graveyard fell off my tongue, The House looked straight into my eyes.

(part 1/2)

Dear Diary,

The @Level 8 Bouncy House took me to graveyard. As we approached, The House slowed and knelt, it's long muscular legs retracting into it's bouncy exterior. The graveyard was on a hill covered in ominous mist and wet, dewy grass.

After sitting for what seemed hours, I slid off, onto the fall ground, with it's cape of bright leaves. I walked to the front of The House. It's face was like a dog minus the ears and the existence of flesh, it was all just vinyl inflated with air. It stared up at the graveyard.

"Who are you?" I said.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Who made you?" I said.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"What do you want me to say, what are your pronouns, what is your name, what is your favorite painting?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"
The House stared at the graveyard.
"What do you want?" I said wearily.
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you..."
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you want me to..."
The House stared at the graveyard.
"Do you want me to go," I said breathlessly.My throat seeming to pull the words away from my tongue, " Do you want me to go up there, to that graveyard?"
The moment the the words graveyard fell off my tongue, The House looked straight into my eyes.

(part 1/2)