It all started on Monday, worst day of the week. I was drunk with a friend, knowing I had work the next day. Max was really interested in supernatural stuff.
He was a strange man, pulled a needle, thread and a peice of paper out of his pocket. Started telling me about something, i don’t really remember, Like i said i was drunk and didn’t really give a shit about the “supernatural”
What i do remember is his weird ritual.
He told me we had to prick out finger and draw out blood, then write our name and a random number. He went first, wrote- Max, 7. Nothing happened. I laughed and went next.
‘Pricked’ my finger multiple times and wrote- James, and some number, don’t remember what it was.
We kept drinking and vomiting but didn’t pass out. I must’ve been too drunk to notice.
On Tuesday, When i tried to sleep i saw this face, this twisted fucked up face. It didn’t move. Its eyes were fixated on me, Didnt even blink. Its neck looked like that horse boyfriend thing-a giraffe maybe? Then it moved away slowly, disappearing into the shadows.But i could still feel it’s presence, Its eyes, Staring right at me, Waiting for me to fall asleep. I didn’t. I stayed alert all night, praying to God for strength.
Wednesday; Went to work, exhausted. I looked around for Max but I couldn’t find him. I needed to talk to him though, ask him what the fuck he got me into. Tried to sleep, tried my best but i could feel it, i could even see it sometimes,in the corner of my room, under my bed, It was like an adult playing hide and seek with a kid, let them get caught so they can win. It didn’t try to hide itself at all, It was smiling at me, knowing I was helpless, playing with me.
Thursday; I kept calling max, but he didn’t answer the phone.
This happened every day. I’d call max , no response. Wouldn’t sleep at night, can’t sleep in the morning, cause I knew I’d sleep and no one would wake me up, I wasn’t friends with any of my co-workers (except max) No one would notice, I’d sleep till everyone leaves. Till everyone leaves and I’m all alone-No-Till it comes out.
Sunday; I went to Max’s house again. Sick of all this i broke into his house. He was inside. Scared. Holding a knife in his hand.
“I can’t fucking sleep at night, max. what the hell does that ritual do?”
“Im sorry, I’m so sorry” He cried.
“Answer.”
“I didnt know it was real!”
“…”
“It tortures us. Ya know the number we wrote-? That’s the number of nights you have to endure. You won’t get sleep even if you give up. It’ll kill you on your Last night. There’s no escape, James. Its my last night. Im sorry.” I felt a mix of anger and sadness but I left As i remembered The number i wrote.
400.