Classified

Redacted Excerpts From The Classified Journal of Sylvia Martin

Final Entry

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. After all I’ve been through, it’s almost a relief. I smashed the glass, sending a thousand versions of Not-Sylvia scattering across the bedroom carpet. I selected a wickedly sharp sliver and hid it in my dressing gown pocket. I know now what I must do… and I welcome it.

3 Weeks Prior

Wednesday 3rd September

Adam isn’t Adam anymore. I’m not exactly sure when I first noticed it. It’s been creeping up on me over the last few weeks – a feeling of disquiet whenever he walks into the room. Like this morning – I was making a stack of hotcakes for breakfast, mashing banana chunks into the batter in an attempt to get some extra vitamins into the twins.

Adam walked into the kitchen behind me, yawning as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. I turned to receive my morning kiss, our routine the same every day for the last 11 years. And it was like he didn’t see me at all. Just walked straight on through the kitchen to the mudroom for his shoes and jacket. I dropped the spatula on the counter and followed him, just in time to hear the backdoor slam shut.

He wasn’t running late, and we haven’t been fighting. But no morning kiss. I probably sound crazy. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but after 11 years the absence of that simple gesture hit me hard. Lucy ran into the room, crying because Austin stole her Switch and hid it. I soothed her ruffled feathers with an extra dollop of ice cream on her pancakes, then hurried them out to the school bus. But I couldn’t put it out of my mind all morning. And it wasn’t the first sign.

Last week he wore a pink shirt. This man has never bought himself so much as a pair of socks since we moved in together. His whole wardrobe would still consist of AC-DC band shirts and ripped jeans if I hadn’t surreptitiously thrown them out and replaced them with other, more suitable clothes over the years. He is set in his ways – blue or burgundy shirts for work, black pants or a navy suit, dark jeans, and an Eagles sweatshirt on the weekends. I remember a few years ago suggesting that he go wild and try some pastel shades. You’d think I had suggested he go to work in assless chaps! Yet here he was, unwrapping this new shirt I didn’t buy him, putting it on as though it was completely natural. He’s not himself.

Oh - and the smell! He doesn’t smell the same anymore. I’ve always loved snuggling up to him at night, that comforting scent of sandalwood combined with his apple shampoo. It’s just Adam – I could pick him out in a line up blindfolded, I know him so well. But not anymore. Lately, it’s all wrong. Like a bunch of grocery store flowers combined with a heavier, muskier aroma. It makes me uncomfortable when I wake up and smell it, this unfamiliar odor in the bed beside me. Like I’m sleeping with a stranger.

He's started jogging, too. Every evening after dinner. I know that’s not really a bad thing, he could do with slimming down the Dad bod. But we used to laugh at the keep fit nuts in their tiny shorts and vest tops, constantly checking their apple watch to see if they’d run enough to satisfy Siri yet. When it started a few weeks ago he was wearing his regular clothes and a pair of old sneakers. But now there's a fancy pair of training shoes in the mudroom and a pair of lycra leggings in the wash basket. Did you know they made leggings for men? They have a weird pouch at the front, for their junk. More shopping for clothes… the one thing Adam hates most in the world. What's happened to my husband?

Saturday 5th September

Last night he showered straight after work. Usually, I have to remind him to bathe every few days; he’s not a sweaty guy, so it just doesn’t occur to him without a nudge. He said he’d been stuck working late and his boss was smoking in the office because of a stressful deadline. he wanted to scrub off the reek of stale cigarettes. I’ve never seen Jim smoke, though. We go to the company picnic every Memorial Day and attend barbeques and the occasional dinner party – I can’t recall ever seeing him smoking. But why would Adam lie? What is he hiding? I thought about looking at his cell phone while he was in the shower, but the kids distracted me. When he came back downstairs we played Candyland; Austin won and Lucy sulked. Adam was tickling her on the couch to try and make her laugh, and things seemed normal again. Maybe I am imagining things. For just a second as I watched I thought I saw a shadow cross over them, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

Sunday 6th September

I woke up at 2am and needed a drink of water. I don’t know what made me go down to the kitchen, the water in the ensuite is perfectly good, it all comes from the same well. For whatever reason, I found myself standing on the back porch looking up at the stars.

It was so peaceful, a slight breeze ruffling through the tall grass in the lower meadow and the occasional guttural call of a bullfrog in the creek beyond. The skies were mostly clear, just a few wispy clouds passing in front of the large harvest moon.

And then it happened. A blinding white light appeared over the tall pine trees by the shed, rising up at a great speed. It spun in circles, 5 rotations, and then moved impossibly sideways, almost too fast to see. Now it was far to the right, hovering low over the Hemmingway’s red barn… So bright, outshining all the stars, brighter even than the sun. It hurt to stare at it, and I found myself raising a hand to shade my eyes. It was blinking now, flickering like the Morse code torchlight signals I used to send to my best friend as a child. Then there was another one, high over Devil-kill Rise, this one a more orange hue. For a while I stood frozen in place, watching the two lights dance together. They cut a dizzying waltz across the heavens, dipping low and soaring high before teleporting from one place to another. At some point I dropped my glass, the cold water splashing all over my feet, glass shards exploding all over the porch. I barely noticed. I was still standing there when I felt Austin tug at my nightdress, snapping me out of my trance. My feet were bleeding from the glass, and I had to send him to fetch his father down to clean my cuts for me. Adam was curt with me. I tried to explain about the strange light show, but he was grouchy about being woken and cut me off.

“Just try to stick to daylight if you’re going to do something stupid Sylvie," he said with a deep furrow between his eyebrows.

He used to speak so gently to me. I broke my ankle a few years ago and he would prop it up on the ottoman, plump my pillows, and fuss around me like a mother hen. Now it’s like nothing I do or say interests him anymore. I won’t mention the lights again.

Tuesday 8th September

Things have been strange today. The children were playing on the swing set in the side yard, and I watched them now and then while I washed the dishes. Glancing up from the suds, I thought for a moment that I saw… but no, it must have been some trickery of the light, maybe the old Victorian glass distorted the image. It seemed like they had no faces. Just a blank mask where their eyes and nose ought to be. I startled, letting the saucepan splash into the foamy water as I looked again – and they were back to normal.

It happened again at bath time. I walked in the room with their towels, still cozy and warm from the tumble drier. For a split second they weren’t children at all, but two faceless monsters, their heads bowed close together, speaking some alien tongue I couldn’t comprehend. Then they turned and saw me. In a flash they were back to normal, Lucy piling bubbles on top of Austin’s head like a fancy beehive hairdo. I think I’ll go straight to bed after tucking them in, I feel like a migraine might be coming on.

Wednesday 9th September

This morning Adam left without saying a word, this is apparently our new normal. His shirt today was a paisley cream and navy monstrosity, designed for a younger, more svelte man. More shopping. More change.

I followed the kids to the school bus stop at the end of our drive. They giggled and chattered together the whole way, but they weren't talking English. Maybe it’s some game they are playing, pretending to be from another country. Or is it that twin-talk I’ve read about in magazines? Eight seems old to start up something like that, but I confess I know little about the subject. It’s starting to feel very lonely in our house, even when everyone is home.

I’m in our bedroom, writing my journal while Adam is in the bathroom. I can hear him talking to someone, although he’s alone in there.

"I think Sylvie is starting to suspect," he said in a low voice.

I think he is right.

Friday 10th September

Adam is out of town on business until Monday. I spent my day in the library, researching the weird lights in the sky. I felt a bit self-conscious. I don’t want people to think I am some crazy conspiracy theorist. I don’t believe in Ancient Aliens or pretty much anything they say late at night on the History channel. I’m not even sure I believe in God anymore. We only go to church for Easter and Christmas, more out of a sense of duty than any deeper religious fervor. I don’t know which is less likely – that the lights were some kind of alien lifeform from another planet or a visitation from a heavenly messenger. I did find some interesting examples of similar lights seen throughout history, though. In Nuremberg, Germany in 1561 there was a sighting, though on a far grander scale. They described the same darting and sudden movements, impossibly fast even for a military airplane or drone. What the article described was some kind of aerial battle between numerous objects in the sky. Hundreds of them. I hope that isn't going to happen here. Just two of the lights were scary enough.

Another book suggested a scientific explanation – perihelions, or sun dogs. A weird trick of the eye that makes refracted light form orbs on either side of the Sun. I want to believe it, but my lights were at nighttime, and couldn’t have been from the Sun.

Spirit orbs are another thing. Some people see balls of light and think they are angelic visitations. Perhaps that is what has happened to us – it would be comforting to imagine the lights and weird goings-on might be the result of heavenly intervention. I wish I could believe that.

I barely made it home for the twins. Again they were babbling in that unknown tongue, and I didn't like the way Lucy looked at me, from the side of her eyes. A sneaky, disrespectful kind of look, as though I were no longer her mother, but someone inferior to her. She whispered into Austin's ear and they both giggled, running off to the garden together. They didn't come in at dinnertime, and it was dark when they returned, I was getting frantic with worry. I yelled at them, demanding to know where they had been, and Lucy looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face.

“We’ve been in our bedroom, Mommy. We were drawing you a picture, we didn’t hear you calling us.”

She handed me a piece of paper torn from her sketchpad. It was a picture of our house, with stick figures of Adam, Lucy, and Austin standing outside. Green crayon pine trees stood tall below two bright yellow suns, one on each side of the roof. I asked why I wasn't in the drawing.

"Silly Mommy," Austin replied. "You were the one taking the picture!"

I put it on the fridge, but it makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I feel like I am fading away when I look at it. A view of my world without me. And everyone is smiling.

Monday 13th September

Adam came home late last night. I heard him stomp through the mudroom, chucking his clothes straight from his suitcase into the washing machine before he came through to the den. I was watching an old episode of The X Files. I wished I could call Mulder and Scully to tell me what is happening to my family.

“Where are the kids?” He asked as he walked to the sideboard and poured himself a large scotch. That’s another thing; he’s started drinking more.

“They’ve been in bed for hours, Adam. You know their bedtime is 8pm.”

“Ok, Whatever. I just thought they might want to see me after my trip, that’s all.”

“How was your trip?”

“Fine. I got what I needed to do done. I may have to go to D.C this weekend, though. And I’m going to have more late nights for a while, with the merger.”

He’s never had late nights before. He chose the job because he wanted a 9-5 routine. He told me before the twins were born that I’d never have to put them to bed without a kiss from their Daddy. I guess that’s gone now, too.

Tuesday 14th September

I picked them up from the bus stop, but I kept my distance. I don’t feel comfortable when they speak like that. It makes me feel insignificant. I miss the cheery chatter as they had milk and a snack in the kitchen nook, school bags higgledy-piggledy in a pile, shoes kicked off across the hallway. Now they hang their bags on the hooks, shoes placed neatly in a row beside the door. They disappear up to their room, whispering and glancing at me and nudging each other. If this is a phase, it's a horrible one.

Adam was late again tonight. He went for a jog even though it was gone nine when he got in. He’s taking two showers a day now, but he smells worse than ever. I can hardly bear to be in the same room with him. I saw the shadow again while he slept last night – it was moving slowly over the bedroom ceiling, creeping up towards the headboard, spreading itself slowly over him while he snored away. I couldn’t breathe as I watched it, my heart raced and I felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t take it anymore and shook him awake – and immediately the shadow disappeared. I think it came from inside him. I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. I am dreading bedtime. My head aches again.

Wednesday 15th September

Not-Adam dropped the Not-Kids off at school today. I was barely able to keep my eyes open after another bad sleep. Last night I checked in on Austin and Lucy. They were tucked up in bed, the nightlight on, the room exactly as normal. Except their faces were blurry. It was like pixelization on a computer screen – or a Minecraft character from their game. No eyes, nose, mouth, eyebrows… just all gone. Yet their chests still rose up and down. Somehow they were breathing with no noses! I stood in the doorway staring for almost five minutes until I felt Adam step behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder and I fought the urge to cringe away from his touch.

“Cute when they’re asleep, aren’t they?” He said with a sly smile.

That’s when I knew for sure. They are all in on it.

I spent the afternoon making a safe place for myself. I went through each room systematically, getting rid of anything dangerous and hiding it in the various drawers and baskets of our guest room. Nobody really goes in here except me; I use the little desk for writing letters and paying the bills. I took all the sharp knives out of the kitchen block, those are all under the folded sheets in the closet beside the boiler.

I found Austin's little league baseball bat in the mudroom, as well as a cobwebby set of golf clubs we inherited from Adam's Dad in the back of the garage. I hesitated, but took all the tools too. And the hand ax from the woodpile.

Finally, I went to the gun case, half afraid Not-Adam might have changed the code. But no, it’s still 0324, our anniversary. I took all the bullets and hid them in the storage drawer under the bed. The Glock went under the pillow, but I didn't load it. Part of me still hopes those strange lights in the sky will come back and fix whatever they did to my family. And if they do, I can’t risk Lucy and Austin finding a loaded gun in the house.

I also took all the keys out of the doors around the place. It’s old, so all the locking mechanisms use the same style key. I put them on the top shelf of the closet, except the one in the guestroom door. I think I will sleep in here tonight. It’s the only way to make sure I remain myself.

Friday 17th September

My head is throbbing. I haven’t left the guestroom in two days except when I’m home alone. I told Not-Adam that I had a killer migraine and just needed to lie down in the dark. It was partially true, this headache has been plaguing me for weeks. He seemed unconcerned like his mind was on other things. Who knows what they are planning to do… I heard them all chatting in the living room in their secret language, sometimes laughing. It's nearly nine-thirty, but I don't think bedtime has meaning anymore.

At one point Not-Adam went to use the bathroom, and he was talking to himself again.

“She’s been acting really weird lately, I think she probably already knows. It’s just a matter of time really… we haven’t exactly been discreet. Let’s see how the weekend goes, but I think I’ll have to do it soon. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

Oh, God. He knows I know. What is he going to do? I'm so afraid. I want to hide in the bed, but even with the door locked I don't feel safe, so I've put the pillows and quilt on the floor behind the door. It opens inwards, so he can’t get in without waking me.

I’m thinking about loading the gun.

Saturday 18th September

I could just leave! I didn’t think of it before, but there’s no reason I can’t just jump in my car and drive away. I could go to my sister in Delaware… No. They’d guess I was there. I checked the bank balance and the savings account is really low – there should have been at least $6,000, but there is only $900. Apparently, Not-Adam went to Las Vegas last week instead of Baltimore and paid for the hotel and car rental from our account instead of the company credit card. Isn't Area 51 somewhere out that way? He said he was going to D.C this weekend to the head office, but the bank record shows he’s checked in to the Sheraton in town, just twenty minutes away from home. I rang them and asked if there was any event there this weekend, and they said they are hosting a convention for Andromeda Media Group. That’s a star system, isn’t it? Or maybe a galaxy, I’m not sure. Are there others like my family in town? Body snatchers of some kind…

Oh God, what if Adam, Lucy, and Austin are gone forever? What if these monsters haven't just taken over their bodies, but are wearing their skins like an elaborate costume? My whole family might be dead and yet still living! I can't bear to think anymore.

The twins knocked on my door a few times during the day, but I didn't open it. I told them I was still sick and to just eat peanut butter sandwiches. I watched them from the window when they went outside. They were picking flowers, collecting samples? Their faces were like lumps of clay, completely featureless. Maybe it hurts to maintain the disguise. Could my real husband and kids be held captive somewhere? Did the bright lights take them away, leaving these fake versions in their place? I wish I knew the answer.

When I opened my bedroom door a crack I saw a tray outside. A small bunch of wilted daisies in a mason jar of water, with a peanut butter sandwich cut into wonky triangles and a glass of milk. I shut the door quickly and locked it. They won’t get me that easily.

Monday 20th September

Not-Adam broke the lock on the guestroom door when he got home last night. He was furious that I didn’t come out all weekend to look after the kids. Apparently the kitchen was a mess, with jam spilled on the table and ants everywhere. He demanded I open the door, and I told him I couldn’t and to go away. So he kicked it in. I panicked at the loud thumps and the way the dressers shook as he threw himself against the door. I loaded the Glock and crawled into the closet, holding it in front of me shakily like a talisman of protection. I steeled myself to be ready to use it, reminding myself over and over that he just looks like my husband, it’s Not-Adam, Not-Adam… even so, when the door burst open and he half fell into the room, I was unable to pull the trigger. His eyes widened when he saw the weapon.

“Sylvie, what on earth are you doing? It’s me, Adam, your husband for God’s sake! Put the gun down. You’re scaring the children!”

I didn’t move, the gun still trained on him as he walked warily around the bed, hands raised in placation. I closed my eyes as he drew closer, trying not to breathe in that awful scent that seems stronger each day. I felt him tear the gun out of my hands, opening it and cursing loudly.

“Jesus Christ, it’s loaded! You could have killed me, Sylvie. This isn’t funny anymore. I’m taking you to see the doctor tomorrow, this is absolutely nuts.”

He pulled me out of the closet and I jerked away, scratching at his face as I tried to escape his grasp. But he was too strong, and he yanked me up, dragging me into our bedroom. He forced me to take two sleeping pills and watched me until I fell unconscious. I tried hard to fight the drowsiness, but a lack of food and sleep left me vulnerable and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The last thing I saw as I passed out was the shadow, watching me from the ceiling above, waiting for its opportunity to pounce.

This morning, as soon as the Not-Twins caught the school bus, Adam ordered me into his car. I didn’t dare disobey, or maybe I couldn’t… who knows what they did to me last night while I was asleep. He drove me to Doctor Wilson, spending most of the journey in silence. I sat on the hard plastic seats in the waiting room, watching a small child play with Duplo blocks at the little Lego table in the kiddy area. The mother smiled at me, and I tried to smile back. Maybe she didn’t know, or hadn’t seen it yet. Her child looked towards me, a rippling, flesh-colored mask where his face should be.

Dr. Wilson seemed human still. Or maybe adults are better at controlling their appearance. I knew I would have to be really careful not to slip up and admit anything to her. I felt distinctly Not-Sylvie as I plastered a smile on my face and answered her questions. I don’t think Doctor Wilson is one of them, but I couldn’t risk warning her because Not-Adam was in the room. I couldn’t even tell her about the headaches.

We left her office with a prescription for anti-anxiety meds and drove home via the pharmacy. He poured me a glass of orange juice and watched to make sure I took the pill. He didn't go to work, so there was no getting away from him all day. At one point he went to the bathroom and was arguing with himself again.

“It’s not the right time, I don’t feel safe leaving her with the twins. You’ll have to wait a little longer. I promise I’ll do it soon. I just need to wait till she’s more stable.”

He ordered pizza for dinner, and we all sat around the television in the den. The twins were wearing their faces again, and when they spoke they did it in English. But I wasn’t fooled anymore. The shadow watched over us all.

I think I will have to do something soon. This can’t go on much longer.

Thursday 23rd September

Getting harder to write. I think they are changing me. It must be in the pills. I try to hide them under my tongue, but Not-Adam checks and makes me swallow them anyway. I’ve been making myself sick in the bathroom after each one, but who knows how fast their alien technology starts to work.

The lights are back again. I see them in the daytime too, now. They buzz angrily over the house. I am a prisoner here, there’s no way I can escape without them following. I am less and less myself with each day that passes, stretched thin, my mind foggy. I think I am starting to understand their conversations. It sounds like English to me now. I might think I had imagined it all, except their vacant faces. My head feels like it might implode.

Friday 24th September

I am Sylvie. And I am Not-Sylvie. The difference between the two is blurred. I can’t fight it anymore. I am losing.

Not-Adam is staying home all the time now. He watches me almost constantly; it was hard to sneak away for long enough to arm myself. I waited till he walked the Not-Twins to the school bus and I hurried upstairs to the closet where I had stashed the knives. I would prefer the Glock, but he took that away and I don’t know the new combination for the case.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when he trudged back into the house. He looked at me and sighed heavily.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked.

"Yes," I replied, my fingers clutching the small paring knife under the table.

"I'm sorry, Sylvie. I never wanted this to happen. I tried to fight it, but it was too powerful. I was in the middle of it before I even realized it. I never wanted to hurt you or the kids."

He walked over to me, sitting down in the chair on my right. The shadow sat over us both. I made one last attempt to reason with him.

“Is there nothing we can do to save ourselves? What about the kids? They’re so young, they don’t deserve this!”

“I wish there was. But Sylvie, I can’t. It’s over for us. There’s no going back now. I’ve changed too much. I’m not the man you married anymore.”

"I thought so." I looked at him through tear-filled eyes, my headache reaching a crescendo of searing, agonizing pain. He reached out to take one of my hands, and I struck.

I slammed the knife into his neck, so fast he didn’t see it coming. Blood blossomed from the wound and his eyes widened in horror. His left hand flew to his throat, grabbing the wooden handle and pulling it from his flesh. It clattered to the ground, and blood sprayed out from the wound. A red mist hung in the air between us as he began spluttering, viscous blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. His head slumped forwards, hitting the table hard, and his body began to shake and spasm. And then it was over.

I left Not-Adam in the kitchen, went upstairs to shower and change my blood-stained clothes.

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. After all I’ve been through, it’s almost a relief. I smashed the glass, sending a thousand versions of Not-Sylvia scattering across the bedroom carpet. I selected a wickedly sharp sliver and hid it in my dressing gown pocket. I know now what I must do… and I welcome it.

It’s just me and the shadow here now, and my infernal headache. We wait together in silent enmity, ready for the final battle for my soul. The school bus will return in three hours. Not-Lucy and Not-Austin will be coming home. I am ready for them.