The Morgan Smith Case: Evidence

A Letter.

April 10,2009

I called in sick this morning. I read something that said writing your thoughts down can help you navigate a problem. I’m not sure how much this will help with my “problem”, but let’s take a jab at it.

Nothing has been the same ever since Morgan returned from her trip to Bolivia. Two weeks is a short time for someone to change so drastically, yet she came back… different. The first thing I noticed was a bracelet on her right wrist — she’d never worn jewelry before. Red and blue, childish-looking, but strangely… alive.

Her personality shifted. Odd, distant. Sometimes I catch her staring—not lovingly, but like a farmer watching a prized pig. Waiting for that moment, the perfect moment, just when it’s nice and fat. That moment when he will carry him back to his place, like usual, like any day, this time though - the last.

I don’t spend much time at home. She stays there, all day. Alone. The uncertainty gnaws at me. I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible is waiting for me when I arrive. I wonder what she plans for throughout the day. Luckily, nothing has happened. So far.

At night, her silence could be suffocating. We sleep in the same bed by habit, but there’s a tension, a presence I cannot name.

Earlier this week, I was at work and stared out the window for a second. I swore I saw her face, framed in the bushes. Dark eyes. Unblinking. Cheeks sunken. Gone the moment I looked again.

She’s barely eating. She’s barely sleeping too. Her face- Sunken cheeks, dark circles.

There’s a sensation when I try to sleep, as if someone else is beside me. Someone else that is not her. Sometimes I feel a chair shift, a presence lurking. I dread being home.

Last night was the worst.

I swear I saw her put something on my food last night. But I did not find anything around, nor in the trash can.

We had dinner. “Tomorrow is Good Friday”, she said. I nodded and looked down at my food. Dumplings? That’s strange. As I grab my fork to eat one. I stopped. I count them. Twelve. “Oh, what a coincidence,” she said, eyes piercing. My heart raced. I ate one, made an excuse, and went to bed.

I woke just after 3 a.m., Morgan was not in bed. Hoping for a few more hours of sleep, I closed my eyes. I felt the covers were tugged from my feet. Expecting a prank, I moved my eyes to look—but nothing. Empty.

Then the bed sank beside me. I looked, expecting Morgan. I could see the side sunken, but no one there. My body froze. Something crawled from my feet up, coiling around me. I was lifted from my bed. I could not move. Could not breathe. I begged silently for it to stop. And then—I was dropped.

I turned on the light and headed to the bathroom sink. I splashed water on my face, checked the mirror—and there she was, behind me. Pale, eyes dark, cheeks hollow. A smile stretched from ear to ear, and I jumped awake.

The bracelet. The dreams. The “Good Friday”. The dumplings. Something is wrong..

I cannot ignore this. I have to put an end to this. Tonight.

I will not be a sheep to the slaughter house.

This is not the same person I met.

I don’t know what happened to her, but she is gone.

‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.’

Tonight.

You are not her anymore.

Whatever you are.

You witch.

You devil.

(The rest of the letter is illegible, erratic, and scribbled with numbers)

(The final word, written in blood)

Die

An Email.

April 10, 2009.

11:00am

Hello Mom & Dad,

I tried calling and texting, but you may not have signal. I hope you’re enjoying the Laugaveggur hike. Traveling really runs on the family, huh. I do need to tell you about Bolivia.

During my trip. I went on a hike. There was this old lady at the mountains, dressed in their local Pollera and hat. She came to me and offered me a bracelet, for free. I know you said never to take a gift from people in these places, a lot of times these are scams. Her demeanor seemed kind. So I took it.

She helped me put it on. The moment it touched my wrist, I felt a burn. Her face… her stare changed. She spoke in a language I didn’t understand, laughing as she held my wrist. I pulled my arm and slowly walked away. Periodically checking my back, but I cannot shake the feeling something followed me.

I cannot explain why I did not remove this bracelet. It’s colors, it’s shape. It fit me like a glove. It feels like that’s where it belongs. On my wrist. With me.

Once home, I removed the bracelet and set it on the desk. Even removed, it seems alive. It always finds its way back to my wrist.

I noticed somethings were different. Bracelet with or without me. Small, strange things happen: appliances running, faucets turning on, whispers I cannot place. It is… watching.

Sometimes, nothing happens at all and everything gets so- quiet. Like someone is trying not to be noticed. There’s been times I catch myself staring at nothing, waiting for something.

I’m worried about Tommy. He is different. Pale, restless, eyes sunken. I want to get his thoughts on this bracelet. But with his religious background, I don’t want to worry him.

He likes easter, and I wanted to remind him that we are close to it last night. “Tomorrow is Good Friday, almost easter” I said. Hoping he would be excited about the church events. He stared at me, judging. He ignored me and went to grab his dumplings. He stopped, stared at his plate, and walked away without saying a word.

He has not been sleeping well. He talks in his sleep, whispers, sometimes shouts. Two nights ago, he woke up in the middle, shook, and sweaty.

I tried giving him a sleep aid last night.

However, I felt bad and was not able to sleep at all. I heard a loud bang from the attic. I headed up there, a dead bird. Poor guy, I’m not sure how he got in, but looked like it had been dead for a while.

I went to the kitchen to get some breakfast ready for Tommy. I saw him a few hours later. Sweaty, terrified. I’m concerned that it had something to do with the sleep aid. We shared a stare and he left.

I do not know what is happening. The bracelet. The house. Tommy. I am afraid. Please respond as soon as possible.

Love,

Morgan

The recipient received another email from a blank email address.

11:10 am.

“No le puedes ayudar.

Y el que no se halló inscrito en el libro de la vida fue lanzado al lago de fuego.”

Translation: “You cannot help him. And whoever is not found in the Book of Life will be thrown into the lake of fire.”)

Morgan was stabbed to death. Tommy and the bracelet are still missing.