Yep. It’s true. No one believes me, of course. Well, except my parents. Though my parents had already been established by most people, including my teacher, as maniacs. I couldn’t really blame them, though. My parents are called “occultists”. At least, I think so. My dad, my mom, and all their crazy robed friends hang out in the basement every sunday, and scream a bunch of random shit in a language that I don’t understand. To be honest, I couldn’t give two shits about whatever weird stuff they do, but what they did yesterday CROSSED THE LINE.
One fateful Sunday, my parents went down into the basement with a whole ARMY of robed people. I had never seen that many people here at once. I could still care less, so I put on my headphones and had some fun fooling around with my friends on a discord call. Then the first round of screaming started.
I didn’t want my friends to realize that I had a bunch of weird dorks for parents, so I subsequently left and instead decided to work on a very important essay that I had been delaying for as long as possible. I only had a few hours left until it was due and I had barely even started writing. So I got to work, and was actually being pretty productive. A couple hours in, some random robed guy walked out of the basement with a trash bag. Whatever was in it smelled like a thousand dead rats stacked on top of each other, and it made me want to vomit. He went outside, disposed of whatever it was, and then went back down.
I continued working until I was just a paragraph or two away from that sweet, sweet submission button. Suddenly, the chanting from downstairs was interrupted by a loud clanging and what sounded like someone doing a very convincing imitation of a monstrous roar. The loud chanting went from loud and methodical to loud and utterly chaotic, but every 10 seconds or so, I could hear the volume diminish slightly, as if one by one, the voices were being snuffed out. Once the chanting faded, I heard approaching footsteps accompanied by a resounding monstrous growl, until this… thing burst through the door, roaring savagely.
It looked like a lion, except it was jet black and was speckled with glowing dots, almost like stars hanging against the backdrop of space. It had a mane made not of hair, but a writhing mass of tentacles. It simply stared at me, and I stared back, frozen in fear. Then, one of the tentacles shot out, prying the laptop from my grip, and depositing the poor helpless computer into its salivating mouth. And then it left. That MOTHERFUCKER just dissipated into thin air. I know that it could have obviously killed me on the spot. But instead it chose to do the pettiest FUCKING thing imaginable.
Now, at the time, I wasn’t too worried, and assumed that I would be able to get it back on a new laptop because of how google docs autosaves stuff. But then when my dad crawled up the stairs, looking happier than I’d ever seen before, covered in blood, and holding what I’m pretty sure was my mother’s decapitated head, I asked him what had just happened. And he told me this:
“That, my son, was Ghril’itrod, the avatar of dementia, and the first horror I’ve ever managed to successfully summon. Everything that he totally consumes is completely erased from existence.”
Fuck. He was right. To be truthful, I’m not even sure I was working on that essay with a laptop, but I’m just assuming because a laptop is very… “Me”. To make a long story short, a bunch of people in fancy suits and cool looking sun glasses took my father and his gang of followers somewhere where I doubt I’ll ever see him again(good riddance) and then sent me to live with my grandmother, who is significantly more agreeable, and can also make a MEAN batch of cookies. Luckily, I managed to just barely pass English, and my GPA will probably be able to recover from it with time. Still, Ghril’itrod, if you’re out there somewhere, FUCK YOU!