Atticus Jackson

Logan didn't seem to mind beyond the inconvenience of all the bleeding.

Finally, when the fourth cut appeared on his left shoulder and started to seep blood across his shirt, he got up, went to the kitchen and collected a roll of paper towels, then sat back down to watch the Babadook as it played through its spot in our progression, the combo we'd used once already to unlock something dangerous.

Maybe it changes when you watch it again.

I wanted to go, wanted to never watch another horror movie again, but I couldn't just leave him to bleed.

The times I tried to mention calling an ambulance, he would just say no, then go back to his muttering.

And I guess an ambulance would have just brought questions about what happened to Corey anyway.

Questions I couldn't really answer.

So, I sat there, watching him slowly transform into a blood-stained paper towel mummy.

And somewhere along the way, I pulled out my phone and started typing this out.

Because I guess I don't have anything better to do.

Now that I've gone back through it all, though, I'm realizing something I wish I wasn't.

I don't think I was writing all of this because I was trying to make sense of things.

I think I'm writing all of this because I know what's coming.

Whether that little buffering wheel spins the movie back out at us again or not, I know that soon, someone will come here because they can't get us on the phone.

And they'll find Corey's guts in a bag, and Logan bleeding out on the couch, and me...

Well, I'm not sure I'll be here.

In fact, I'm not sure any of us will be.

And maybe that's better.

In the meantime, Logan's trying to get his blood-covered, slippery hand to work the remote right.

So I guess I'm gonna help him hit play on the next movie.