The Jawas

You can call me Tom, but that's not important.

A few days ago, I heard from my parents that one of my childhood friends named Daniel Mayfair went missing, presumed dead. We hadn't communicated since high school, where we had a bit of a falling out right before graduation. I wanted to grow up too fast, and he was a regular Peter Pan. Still, I knew Dan as a pretty nice kid and had nothing but pleasant memories of our various childhood shenanigans, so it was a shame to hear how he'd pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth.

I remembered that he'd had one of those Livejournal things in high school, so I figured I'd poke around on his old handle and see if I could find anything illuminating. He didn't have any friends on the site and nobody commented on his entries aside from the odd Russian spammer or two; I think Dan just used it as a place to collect his thoughts. I found that after high school he had moved to New York City for college and also worked at a record store on the side. Most of his LJ was just the usual ramblings of your average 20-something - anxiety about school, gripes about work, reviews of concerts he'd gone to and records he'd bought, pinings after girls he could never have, the usual. The last few entries paint a downright chilling portrait of what probably happened to him, and I think it's better that I share it in his own words. I know it's what he would have wanted.

'''SUBJ: CRAZY WEED TALES!!! POSTED 6/25/11 3:47:06 PM'''

Got a fresh bag from Phil last night!! 420 BIOTCH. We got some blunt wraps from that one Arab bodega on Knickerbocker and Troutman, and apparently they sell them in doubles??! So long story short we had TWO blunts. This was undoubtedly a night to blast some Electric Wizard, so we decided to head back to my place and give it the full-on analog treatment it deserves and make up for me missing the Sleep show on Wednesday (I'm so goddamn jealous of him and Yumi fffffffff). But we totally smoked one before heading out B.

Now this is where it gets weird. We saw this one homeless person on Melrose that was rummaging through the trash collecting empties that he was loading into his shopping cart. He had this wicked limp, it really looked like he was almost going to fall over with every step he took. And he was wearing a parka. In the middle of summer. What the fuck, right. So Phil figures he'd make sure he's okay- he's a really magnanimous dude, he leaves empties out on his stoop for these guys all the time- but the guy doesn't say anything back to him. Phil even goes so far as to shake the guy on the shoulder to make sure he's still functional, and even after a complete stranger puts himself at risk of contracting Hep-C or HIV or whateverthefuck to make sure he's okay, this asshole thinks it'd be better to turn around and GROWL at the dude who's looking out for his well-being instead of showing some appreciation and being like "I'm cool bro, thanks for the help." I didn't know spergs came in homeless flavor.

Oh shit, I forgot to mention the cat! The homeless guy had this nasty-ass cat riding in his shopping cart that looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to it. The fur was all patchy and the tail had been shredded down to a scraggly stump, and while all this was going on it was just staring at me. Now I know we were one blunt down and it might have been the paranoia, and yes I know that cats usually stare at you with a look that says "I wish you would just fucking die," but ''damn. ''That cat seriously looked like it wanted to kill me. The best part was probably when it stood up in the little basket and I saw that it was missing a foreleg. It didn't break eye contact with me the entire time. I don't think it blinked once.

Fuckin' tripod cats are out to kill me, man!!! That'll teach me to laugh at cat macros I guess :p At least the new Ramesses slays. God, I wish those guys were still with the Wizard.

'''SUBJ: EL VIEJO DEL SACO?? jajajajajajaja POSTED 6/28/11 11:14:58 AM'''

So I was walking to work from the G stop this morning, and I was running about twenty minutes early so I took a detour and stopped in at that one coffee joint. Got a bigass venti mocha latte, hell yes. On the way back out I saw a Hispanic guy jamming out "N.I.B." on guitar and of course I had to throw him some change. I mean come on, it's not every day someone's busking Sabbath. Me and Esteban (that's his name) get to talking and he's trying to argue that the best Sabbath album is Heaven & Hell, but pfff come on we all know it's Master of Reality.

Then I catch one of those Jawas across the street. That's what Phil started calling the crazy guy from Friday night with the fucked-up cat, and the name definitely sticks - hooded crazy scrap collectors who speak gibberish, right? This guy was putting all his weight on his shopping cart for support, and it looked like if you took it out from under him he'd drop like a sack of bricks. The crazy part was that this new Jawa had a cat riding with him too. This ugly fucker's ears were all scabbed and mangled, and it was drooling all over one of the garbage bags full of beer cans - not like little strands of spit, this was like fuckin' CURTAINS of drool. It had to be the nastiest thing I'd seen all week, except for that clump of hair I had to pull out of the shower drain last night. Guuhhhhh.

So I point this out to Esteban, and he gets this look on his face like I'd just told him his mom died or something. He brings me in close and starts telling me about this story his dad told him about "el viejo del saco" (sp? haven't studied Spanish since high school) and how these Jawas cart around bags of body parts and shit under all the empties. Sure, and the sewers are full of alligators and there's dog in my Chinese food. Like I'm gonna believe that. Pretty scary when you're just a kid, but it's not like those guys actually truck around with like seven dismembered corpses in their cart. That would smell even worse than they usually do.

'''SUBJ: Dude this is pretty fucked up right here POSTED 6/29/11 12:24:29 AM'''

I think one of those Jawas followed me home. He was keeping a wide berth for most of the way, and there was no way he could keep up with my pace the way he was using his cart like a walker, but every time I looked back he was right there in the distance with his little cart full of cans or bodies or double-sided strap-on dildos or whatever. I looked out the window once I got up to my room and got the best look at one of these guys that I've gotten so far. He was hanging out right in front of my door, not even doing anything, just standing there looking at the door while the cat circled around his feet. He was wrapped pretty tightly in his parka, but I noticed he wasn't wearing any gloves. And it might have just been the light, but it looked like his fingernails had fallen off. And that's when he looked up at my window.

Fuck, I think I just heard a cat. More later.

'''SUBJ: Where's Phil? POSTED 7/1/11 5:27:06 PM'''

I don't know where Phil is. I've tried calling him, but it just goes straight to voicemail. Yumi has no idea where he could be either. I told her about the Jawas and she just laughed at me. She thought it was hilarious that Phil had been kidnapped by a bunch of homeless trash collectors. I would've agreed with her a week ago.

I'm going to head over to Phil's place and see if I can find anything.

'''SUBJ: No sign POSTED 7/1/11 6:05:08 PM'''

Can't find Phil anywhere. Door to his unit was unlocked so I let myself in, but he wasn't anywhere in his apartment. It's like he just walked out and never came back. He's still not answering any calls or emails. I stepped outside for a smoke, but I'm going back in after this post to see if I can find any clues he might have left.

Scratch that. cat with one ear in his window now, staring at me. going home.

Posted via LiveJournalApp for Android Mobile

'''SUBJ: What the fuck. POSTED 7/1/11 8:35:32 PM'''

I can't wait to get my hands on the asshole who left that plastic bag full of fingernails on my doorknob. REAL FUNNY, DICK. I want to believe it's just a prank, maybe one of those Russians or some 4chan kiddie getting his rocks off. But I can't imagine that many people have access to a full set of fresh fingernails, unless they'd go so far as to pry off their own to wig out some pathetic nerd who still uses LiveJournal in 2011.

No, it has to be the Jawas. Them and their fucking cats. But what the hell would they want with Phil?

Yumi thinks I'm making it all up. I told her to come over and see the bag of nails for herself, but she called me a (direct quote) "heartless piece of shit," and told me to stop because it wasn't funny anymore. I wish I could.

Calling the police.

'''SUBJ: NOPE.avi POSTED 7/2/11 1:05:39 AM'''

Fuck this shit. I'm done.

Called the cops to file a Missing Person report, but something was wrong with the signal. I could hear them perfectly for the first part of the call, but they kept telling me to step out of the subway tunnel. But I was making the call at home. God, I must have repeated the words "Philip LaFresque" and "422 Stockholm Street, Unit 3K" at least six times each.

They eventually got all the information they needed, but while the officer on the line read the information back to me his voice started to get quieter. Then I could hear something else start to eclipse his voice. It sounded like a wet finger sliding slowly along the edge of a half-emptied wine glass, and it kept getting louder. It got to the point where my phone started to resonate with the frequency, and I couldn't even hear the officer anymore.

And then it happened. Fuck, it still gives me chills just thinking about it.

I heard a cat hiss at me, loudly, as if it had its teeth bared and ears back ready to pounce. I threw the phone across the room and knocked out the battery. Then I turned on all the lights and just lay catatonic in my bed weeping until I worked up the courage to post this.

I can't tell if the hiss was over the phone or not. It felt like the cat was right next to my ear. Or right inside my head.

I don't know what the fuck is going on anymore.

'''SUBJ: whatever POSTED 7/4/11 10:03:52 PM'''

Fourth of July today. I don't give a shit.

I decided to turn my phone back on this afternoon. Got a call almost immediately after I did, but like hell I'd pick up. Looked at the Caller ID afterwards though, and it was Brent from work. The voicemail he left said he had to let me go because I haven't been coming in these past few days or letting him know what was going on with me. He said he was very confused, as I'd been nothing but reliable up until this point, but he said he had no choice but to fire me.

He wouldn't understand. He'd just laugh at me if I told him the truth. He's just like that bitch Yumi.

I can see the fireworks over Manhattan if I look out my window, and some of the neighbors are firing off Roman candles of their own. Every time one goes off, I can see another Jawa down a few blocks with another fucking cat in his cart.

Every time a firework goes off, I see that he's gotten a little bit closer.

'''SUBJ: Stop this shit, Daniel. POSTED 7/6/11 3:42:31 AM'''

You're a worthless sack of shit, Daniel Mayfair. You know that?

You've just wasted the past week hiding in your apartment like a pathetic hermit, jumping at shadows. You've lost your job and your friends all because of your stupid paranoia over creepy homeless people and fucked-up cats. What if one of those Jawas actually tries to "get" you or whatever? You've seen how they can barely walk as-is. They're just decrepit, disease-ridden wastes of life, and you're a healthy 25 year old with a black belt. Don't act like you couldn't take them.

And cats. You're scared of cats. Really, dude? Grow a pair.

Dad didn't get his hand blown off in Vietnam just so you could hide in your apartment like a fucking pussy. He was right to throw your ungrateful, entitled, manchild ass out the door. And if Mom were still alive to see you right now, she'd up and disown you. Any mother would be ashamed of bringing such a pathetic waste of breath as yourself into this world.

Time to grow the fuck up, Dan. Stop being such a useless fuckstick and go get your life back.

'''SUBJ: esteban was right POSTED 7/7/11 11:11:11 PM'''

never going out again.

went out to supermarket on knickerbocker to get some food. saw jawa cart in alleyway off Jefferson on the way back, unattended. no cats. needed answers. looked in bags.

big mistake.

saw lumpy trash bag at bottom of cart, opened it. full of body parts. limbs. organs. eyes. skin. looked at arm. gray skin, dried out, bones poking through, had no fingernails, felt like beef jerky. don't know whose it was. eyes were yellow w/ green irises, in a dimebag. guts at the bottom, not sure what.

banshee yowl behind me. turn around. cat. cat w/ no lower jaw, useless flaps of flesh where it used to be, fangs protruding from the top of its gaping maw. right eye gouged out, dangling from socket like yo-yo. yowl got louder. ran, left food behind. would only weigh me down.

hand on my arm, like vicegrip. pulled me off feet. fell, landed on back. jawa leering over me, still bundled in his fucking parka. elbow to the head, he cried out in pain and loosened his grip. i scrambled up and looked behind me. Jawa got up too. I had knocked its hood off. it looked at me.

it wasn't phil. but it was wearing his skin.

'''SUBJ: under siege POSTED 7/11/11 2:36:17 AM'''

gas turned off today. i haven't paid the bill. not that i have anything left to cook. ran out of food yesterday. fucking hungry.

wouldn't even go out if i could though. cats at my door, maybe fifteen, twenty. started with three on Friday; more have shown up ever since. they paw and scratch at door constantly. never stop yowling either. i wish they would stop yowling.

'''SUBJ: no power POSTED 7/13/11 12:47:55 AM'''

Power cut off, internet too. stealing wifi from neighbors. Don't know how they haven't heard these cats yet. counted 35 today. They never leave me alone.

Haven't eaten for 3 days, haven't slept in 2. Bones feel hollow. Head pounding, eyes burning. Can barely walk.

Sometimes I wish I was dead, but then I'd end up like Phil. That's all that still keeps me going.

Posted via LiveJournalApp for Android Mobile

SUBJ: one got in POSTED 7/15/11 3:07:32 AM

Killed it. Thank god for adrenalin. I bashed its little fucking head in with my steel toed boot. I knew it was good for soemthing besides gnawing on.

Cat's legs still twtch evry once in a while. Blood all over carpet. Smells awful.

Very hungry.

Posted via LiveJournalApp for Android Mobile

'''SUBJ: want to die POSTED 7/15/11 7:34:23 AM'''

Ate the cat; tried to anyway. Took knife, carved out guts, cut off what was left of head, chopped up rest into chunks. Tried to skin it but didn't do a very good job. Can't cook without gas or power so just ate it raw. Tasted awful. Fur made me gag. Couldn't keep it down; kept trying anyway.

I think it was carrying a tapeworm or something. Cant stop shitting or puking. I want all this to end. Please let me rest.

Posted via LiveJournalApp for Android Mobile

SUBJ: making a break for it POSTED 7/16/11 5:25:13 AM

Fifty cats outside, chorus of screeching banshees. More are trying to get in. I hear them in the walls, under the floor, in the ceiling scratching scratching scratching. They'll eat me alive. They'll turn me into a jawa.

I wont be a skinsuit. I wont get cut up and stashed under bags of beer cans.

I have to run. I have a chance if i run.

I'm sorry Phil. I'm sorry Brent. I'm sorry Yumi. I'm sorry mom and dad.

Posted via LiveJournalApp for Android Mobile

I need some closure on this. He could still be alive. If anyone has a definitive answer as to what happened to Daniel Mayfair or Philip LaFresque, please let me know. I'm going to see if I can track down whoever Yumi, Brent, or Esteban are, right after I shoo this cat away from my window. It's only got one eye and it's really freaking me out.