Home sweet home. A place of sanctuary. Your own little slice of paradise. I never put much thought into it until recently. How much emphasis we as people place on our homes. Some refer to it as their castle, a place where they above all else rule. Others leave it up to the heart to decide. To find that one place that feels like home above all titles and logical reason. To some, this is a place imbued with nostalgia, and to others, it is nothing more than a foreign environment that somehow feels utterly familiar. Ultimately home is wherever we decide it to be.
Home as a concept, or an idea, was not something I ever put much thought towards. That is not to say I never felt the joyous comfort it can provide, or longed for a day never-ending to cease upon my arrival back through its familiar door. No, those are feelings like many I am no stranger to. However, the idea of it being anything more than simply a place for me to rest my head and live out my days would take many years to dawn. When I was a child, my home was a place for me to rest, eat, play, and little else. It consisted of family and the occasional friend or pet. It was nothing special, but It was mine, and for many years, it would be my world. When something is all you know, and you hold no reason to question it, rarely, at least in my experience, do you.
Age is a brutal thing however, the thoughts in which we placed very little focus, now become the center of our worlds. Gone are the days of endless imagination which turned backyards into kingdoms and attics into spaceships exploring the endless expanse of our universe. Life’s cruelest joke is the pain of age. Imagination, instead of fading, is replaced with the harsh truths of reality. Time and responsibilities eat away at any hope still lingering in our heads, and being whisked off into lands unknown once again soon falls by the wayside.
To say that so far I have lived a grand life would be nothing short of a lie. I was never the greatest at anything. My abilities helped me remain dead center in the middle of the pack. Unwanted eyes were never cast my way for repeated failure, or for adolescent outbursts in a desperate hope of gaining attention, I failed to find elsewhere. In truth, I was nothing more than average and painfully content with it. As a child, my greatest gift like so many was the sheer willpower of my imagination. This did little to change my lot in life. The one that I intentionally fell into for whatever reasons I deemed worthwhile throughout the stages of my early life. Overall I’ll admit it was quite easy living carelessly with a mindset like that. All I ever had to do was place one foot in front of the other and allow life like some cosmic force to guide me forward.
As the years persisted much like they do my eyes would open more to the world around me. It would take time for me to realize the detrimental toll this took on my imagination, the one gift I was granted. Imagination is a unique gift. Each of us is granted it from birth. The ability to be whisked away into whatever daydreamed illusion we find ourselves called to. The true gift that comes with it is the strength to maintain it. To never let your grasp upon its intangible surface falter. I believe now more than ever that if one is able to do so, if you can prevent yourself from letting your eyes wander too far, you’ll have something very few are able to keep ahold of and its power is limitless. By the time I had reached the doorstep of higher education mine had almost entirely vanished. I don’t blame the parties, the drinking, the girls I chased, the friends I smoked my first cigarette with behind the bleachers, the family vacations, nights spent alone playing games or watching movies, or the part-time job I put so many hours into. I blame nothing more than myself. Life and the experiences held within can serve as great fuel for the machine that is our mind. I blame myself for losing focus. For allowing those things to eat away at my imagination rather than power it. In a way, a mind must be trained to truly harness that which we are all given. As I said I wouldn’t realize this for quite some time. Despite my withering gift as years passed on a dream grew inside of me. The dream was simple. I wanted to be different. To discard my identity as average and become something more.
I had little artistic ability. Music was out of my grasp as was drawing or painting. I knew nothing of film or photography yet more and more I felt drawn to this idea of separating myself from the herd. I did not know at the time what I wished to share with the world. What it was that would make me stand out. There was no all-consuming idea I felt determined to present. All I knew is I wanted more than what I had accepted as my life. After taking a long look at myself and my lackluster abilities, I decided to tell the world a story. Eighteen years old and hopeful, I figured pursuing an English degree would be my best option. With that one decision, my mind was made up. I would study the language and become an author.
I wish I could say I spent the next four years of my life faithfully devoted to my task. Unfortunately, that would be a lie. I did try in the beginning. As sad of an attempt as it might have been. After getting settled my work began. I had barely anything resembling an idea but still, I began work on my first novel. For a few weeks between studying, I did little more than write. I was alone and had nothing else to distract myself with. Unfortunately for my dream I soon made friends, which led to parties, and hangouts, sneaking into clubs and bars, and late nights hanging out in our dorm rooms as we let the world fade away in puffs of smoke. Time would pass and my grades would slip calling for more of my attention to be divided. Before long I’d meet more people, go on dates, and eventually find love. I know now that had I told her I needed a few hours even just once a week she would have understood, but back then I thought differently. Maybe that’s a lie too. Maybe writing, pursuing my dream, was more frustrating than I had expected, and she was a beautiful reason to procrastinate. Nevertheless, those four years soon slipped past me in a blur. There were times where I still made an attempt as few and far between as they were. Times where I figured it’d be best to start over. Times where I completely gave up. Times where the paycheck from whatever diner, bar, construction site, clothes store, or janitorial position felt far more persuading than spending another penniless night frustrated before the dim glow of my laptop.
Without much thought, I succumbed to the shuffles of life. After graduation writing was truly little more than a dream. Something thought about vaguely in the late hours of the night. I won’t bore you with more of my excuses but life moved on and I along with it. Unable to escape. In a way I enjoyed life wrapped up in the comfortable delusions brought by the false promises I continued to whisper to myself. Words said only to me. Words about “someday” and “when I find the time” all the while knowing deep down that those words held no real truth. I remained lost in this delusion for quite some while, but never entirely, as the quiet ticks of time never seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was those very ticks on the irreversible clock of life that would inevitably drag me under. While it was fun I could only bear the total lack of forward momentum for so long before depression found me. This depression would ultimately prove to be my salvation but it was one that would take months to move me.
The idea was born in the back of my mind. Something that came and went when it pleased and never drew much attention. However, its constant resurfacing in the depths of my mind would be my ticket to the life I always wished for. After much time I hatched a plan. It wasn’t amazing or glamorous. If anything it was very simple. I decided on a new life. A fresh start of sorts. Something that would forever reawaken all that I had lost. I saved every penny I could and eventually managed to afford first and last for a small one-bedroom in a new city. I packed my bags, said goodbye to my dead-end job, and left my old home. In a single breath, air filled my lungs for the first time in years. I won’t deny it honestly felt amazing.
My new home was nothing special that was evident for all to see. However it was mine, and for the first time, a certain part of me relished in that. For once I was all on my own, and be it a castle or a dump, I had earned one thing I failed to taste prior. True freedom. Not belonging to anyone but myself. I was isolated and determined to pursue my dream. When it was finally accomplished I would share stories of my humble beginnings starting out in an apartment even the rats avoided. The place was permanently stained through years of cigarette smoke. The ceiling, once likely white, had been tainted with a yellow hue. The scent hovered through the air having been fused into the very walls and floor. Carpet remained stained with a variety of browns and blacks and grays. Every room was decorated in cheap wallpaper, its pattern brought to mind flowers but wasn’t exactly that. The building itself was no better. It shrieked silently to all who found themselves within its shadow. Lost in thought I’d watch as passersby were caught, unable to avert their gaze from the hideous behemoth before them. It haunted the very street mocking the white picket fences which surrounded it through its dirt and grime. The unkempt lawn served as no place for garden gnomes and patio stones. Each chipped brick a true testament to days long since passed and renovations which failed to reach its doorstep.
My first night there while boxes waited ready to be unpacked I sat down on the couch left by a previous owner and started my work anew. I promised myself that this would be it. That my goal would finally be obtained no matter what hardships I had to endure. I found the first job I could within a week. It was a cute little bookstore run by an old man. I thought if I were to be a writer where better to work than where all the greats had left their work on display. Those first few weeks were truly amazing and I was able to discover a sense of joy in writing I had never found prior. It was the sort of fulfillment that continually eluded me in all aspects of life until that very moment. Be it the nights I spent all alone in that apartment or the few days off I was granted my every moment was filled with my fingers dancing across a keyboard. Though I would soon learn a dead imagination was hard to revive. At first, I took any idea I could think of and soon they slowly gave way to the slightest inklings of stories. Few made it further than a page, many died in just a single sentence. I remained hopeful early on, but try as I might my brain failed to translate my thoughts into anything feasible.
Again time passed and I had accomplished nothing. When ideas did form something practical I beat myself for my lackluster abilities. When they failed to take shape I tortured myself endlessly for my lack of creativity. Eventually, after seasons shifted, I found myself convinced that it would never come to me if I forced it. I told myself that breaks were just as important as work itself.
That if I truly had a story to tell to the world it would come to me in time. I was tired of the frustration. Tired of all the self-doubt and the endless hits to both my confidence and self-worth. No matter what, every Idea I pursued was met with a dead end, and I would begin anew each time slightly more disheartened than the last. The excitement I once held for writing had almost vanished and the dream of a life distinguished began to corrode.
Discouraged beyond all belief, I let my laptop collect dust as each night gave way to an endless series of tv and games. I distinctly remember convincing myself that this would aid me in the long run. That what I was really doing was seeking out inspiration. I wish that was true, but when Ideas came I never stirred, I wanted them to “cook” longer. As another season changed I could no longer deny the truth. My dream would forever elude me. I wanted to blame everything but I was truly the only problem. Night was when I was haunted the most. Without end, I would linger on how little I had accomplished in my thirty years on this planet as once more I watched my life slip past me. My last thought before sleep would take me every night was a wish. I wished for inspiration to find me. For the very universe to grant me my story. This wish would be granted sooner than I realized.
Winter had made its arrival clear this year, and my little home began to wither ever so slightly. Windows became permanently frosted over and pipes groaned almost endlessly throughout the night while faucets dripped cold droplets. Beneath the smell of cigarettes hung the ever-distinct aroma of rot. In a way, it sort of smelt like a combination of expired food and decaying wood. At times it even reminded me of sour milk. On other occasions, it bore the oddest resemblance to pickled eggs. Ultimately I could never quite place what it was that I smelt throughout my home. It was too inconsistent. Both in its strange odor and the frequency in which it appeared. That putrid aroma would arrive so suddenly and then vanish without a trace. All attempts, in the beginning, did little to determine its source.
All around my apartment, upon every paper-coated wall, little changes began to form. Little gifts left behind bearing more and more signs of the growing change within my home. It was hardly noticeable in the beginning. The kind of thing your subconscious takes note of but fails to reach that aware and alert part of your brain, the part that takes note and makes sure you remember as your mind sifts through all the thoughts brought forward. I’m positive I noticed it early on, but I can’t remember when that was. I also no longer remember if it occurred before or after that smell began. Or even if they began in tandem with one another. What I do know now is that their existence was tied. I never could have suspected so at the time. There is very little reason to connect the dots between the smell I found suffocating me at odd hours of the day and the hardly noticeable peeling of my wallpaper.
It was so unremarkable when it first began. Nothing more than a few ripped edges along the top or bottom of an odd wall. It didn’t matter if it was the kitchen, the living room, the hall, or my bedroom. It was barely worth a glance in the beginning let alone a thought, but I am sure I noticed it back then. For the life of me, I can’t remember if that’s when I first smelt it. I wonder if the smell came first or if it only arrived after things left the realm of the unexceptional. What I do know for a fact is that when I walked through my home to discover long strands dangling down from the top of the wall and torn off from its base, I was already well aware of that horrid scent. As days passed they appeared more often, scattered throughout my apartment at intervals that caused me to simply stand and ponder as to why this might be occurring. In the beginning, I could never find a reason and even now I still have so many questions. In the morning every now and again I’d find a few long strands collected just beneath the wall in a neat little pile. Above would be the tear marks. The spot where they once clung to now free of the once dangling pieces of paper. As winter continued to press forward these events only continued to grow. Until one particularly cold morning, one where the wind howled and roared and the world outside had been blurred by snowfall, I would finally make an important discovery.
When I awoke that morning there it was, staring right at me. It gave me no time to stumble upon it or to slowly build as my mind was occupied by the other happenings. The moment I opened my eyes it stood there across from me as if taunting me. I saw five neat strands of wallpaper hanging from my wall. They were small as if scratched into a peel, and each bent of themselves like they were asking to be pulled down. When I rose to my feet they met the bottom of my throat. In all my time I had not once touched them while they remained on the wall, and until that day they remained as frayed edges along the top or bottom of the wall. On that morning the second statement changed and soon the first would as well.
With my curiosity roused, I inspected the peculiarity before me. There was something in how different it was that truly aroused my curiosity. The tops of the strands didn’t appear chipped or clawed at, if anything it almost looked like they were pushed from the inside of the wall. Like something had ever so slightly pushed the tips of its fingers through the wallpaper until just enough of it had fallen down for me to grab onto. I did exactly that and pulled the first of the strands away. It ran for a few inches before thinning and then tearing off from the wall. Behind it lay nothing more than the same glimpse into the freshly exposed wall I’d already seen through the rest of my apartment. I don’t know what I had been hoping to find but I felt the smallest tinge of disappointment. My curiosity had not been satisfied and so I repeated the process grabbing hold of the next strand down the line. Once more I tugged down on it until it could no longer remain attached to the wall. It ripped gently, tickling my ears as it moved.
Again I’m not sure what it was I noticed first. I remember coughing when it hit me though. Cowering away and burying my nose and mouth into my sleeve. It was less like a small gut punch and more like an assault on my entire system. The unmistakable feeling of vomit, rising up and burning my throat, was hard to ignore as I recoiled. After a few groans, I was able to push back against the feeling. Up until that moment I had never encountered a smell that could make my eyes water or sting with such ferocity. With my fist pressed against my mouth and nostrils, I looked back up as I used all my willpower to avoid gagging and picked up where I had left off. There was no mistaking it, through my curiosity, I had seemingly found the source of the smell. Hidden behind the remaining pieces of wallpaper it laid dormant, my eyes only able to see the edge which peeked out from behind the paper. What I saw was nothing more than a small hole.
unapologetically silent and eerily dark it sat there barely exposed. With a hand covering the lower half of my face, I continued to remove the remaining strands one by one. The smell remained as repulsive as ever as I rid the wall of the remaining strands of paper. It seemed to reach its putrid peak the moment it was revealed and proved to linger, never fading or dulling in the time to come. Once I had removed all the wallpaper, all that remained was the hole. Barely any bigger than a quarter. It was peculiar, to say the least. It appeared as if the wall naturally curved inwards with it. Bending inside of itself through the piercing. As if it had been placed there by design. Even with the smell still hanging in the air, I couldn’t stop myself from running my thumb along it. It was smooth to the touch. Not a single misshapen or jagged edge upon it. Perfectly round. Perfectly cut. Perfectly smooth. Even the smoke-stained primer which I had revealed followed the fold into the wall.
My curiosity had been satisfied in some aspects. I had found something after all, although the question of what I had found still remained, more importantly, I wanted to find what was creating that smell. I pulled back from the wall, no longer able to bear the scent of the hole a moment longer, and left the room. I entered my bathroom and squirted some toothpaste onto my finger and applied it to the skin just below my nose. After that, I entered my living room and found a mask and a small flashlight. Once it was slapped onto my face I returned to my room.
The smell was still nauseating in a sense, but I was able to withstand it far more than I could previously and so I approached the hole. Placing one hand on the wall beside it I leaned in closing an eye as I did so. What I saw inside the hole was an absence of anything at all. Although I suppose that isn’t entirely correct. I did see something. Before my eyes was a never-ending all encompassing darkness where not even a hint of light shown. The smell overpowered my defenses and I pulled back coughing and gagging. Stepping away I noticed the shadows cast throughout my room reaching out across every wall and sparse bit of furniture. My once bright room had dimmed almost considerably. Like the very sun had moved in the brief moment. Once the feeling of nausea had subsided I turned back to the hole flicking on the flashlight as I did so.
A spotlight was cast before me illuminating the area around the hole in a perfect circle. The wall shined back at me in a grotesque shade of yellow but to my surprise, the hole seemed unaffected by the beam of light. It simply vanished upon contact. As if the darkness had been sucked in and absorbed leaving no trace behind. In truth, it was repulsively dark. I was bewildered at what I saw and for only a moment I wondered if I had been mistaken somehow, that maybe what I thought was a hole was merely just a splash of black paint. I knew however this couldn’t be true. I touched it. Felt its curves. Gazed into its infinite darkness with my own eye, and most importantly I had been tortured via its stench. Regardless, despite all my reasons to the contrary, I couldn’t stop myself from touching it once more. To prove what I saw was real. As I touched it again ever so slightly the tip of my thumb slipped inside it. I jolted back in an instant. It felt like I had just had my thumb frozen in a block of ice. It was freezing cold. I cupped it and winced from the temperature difference. No cold air had flowed out of the hole itself but the inside of it was impossibly cold.
More perplexed than ever I leaned towards the hole cupping the side of my face with my free hand. I brought the light in as close as I could and stared into the hole. Still, I saw nothing. I should have been able to spy studs and insulation, or wires and rusted pipes, I would have even found it less bizarre to gaze into the apartment next to mine. The light did nothing to breach the darkness. I stayed there for a minute trying my best to make out something, anything at all. As I gazed into the hole of vanishing light and everlasting darkness I could feel the world around me slowly slip away. All sounds remained unheard. All distractions were discarded. I stood frozen in time waiting for my eyes to adjust, so I could make out something in the dark. But nothing was ever seen.
The smell hit me like a title wave out of nowhere and I jumped back from the wall. This time the room around me was almost as dark as the hole itself. Behind the ever-raging snowstorm just past my window glowed soft street lights. In my right hand remained the flashlight. Its beam had long since been extinguished. My eyes darted around the room in shock. Seemingly hours had passed as I gazed into the hole. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine and my stomach turned for reasons other than the smell in the air. I stumbled over to my phone pressing the power button. The glow burst forward, stinging my eyes slightly. Its screen displayed missed texts sent hours prior and two missed phone calls. Above all the notifications I saw the time. 8:53. I stumbled out of the room in what I can only describe as a daze entering the dark hallway with sweating palms. I remember muttering to myself as I mindlessly placed one foot ahead of the other. I don’t know what it was I said but I’m sure it was a series of incomprehensible garbage. The ramblings of a man whose world was just thrown upside down.
My hands first hit my face then ran up through my hair as I fell to my knees. The scent wafted out from my room but for the first time, it was hard to focus on. Looking back I’d probably say my mind was empty, but I’m sure it was a whirlpool of thought. I sat releasing staggered breath after staggered breath for a while. Once the shaking stopped I pushed myself back up. More hesitant than ever I inched towards the bedroom. When I reached its edge, with a lowered gaze, I grabbed a hold of the doorknob and pulled it. The moment before it closed I couldn’t stop my eyes from shifting upward. The hole remained as dark as ever. My next decision might not have been rational but all the same, my hand slipped behind the door and twisted the lock before I finally shut it.
The smell still crept out through the crack beneath the door but closing it had reduced it if only slightly. With a deep breath, I turned my back on the room and walked towards my living room making sure to flick on the hall light as I passed its switch. My head felt light, my stomach serged with the pains of hunger, and my throat begged desperately for a glass of water. I heated some leftovers, poured myself a cup, and took a seat before the tv. Whatever I turned on fell into silence as my mind focused on only one thing. I wanted to be rid of that hole. I didn’t care what it was. I didn’t care what made that smell. Impossibly I had lost hours gazing into the unknown. Time I would never get back. Answers were worthless to me at that point. What had happened, all of it, shouldn’t have been possible. I thought about the hole for hours as I sat there on my couch and as the tv droned on I eventually was overtaken by the hands of sleep.
That night I dreamed of a voice calling out to me. My apartment was consumed by the same darkness that lived within the hole. It was thick like smoke but as scentless as fog. Like a fine vapor, the dark substance shifted through the air as I followed the voice. Soon I found myself back in my bedroom. Gone was the furniture, or any semblance that I had once inhabited the room. All that remained was the hole in the wall. It looked slightly bigger. Still perfectly circular but larger than I had left it. The black clouds which hovered above the floor throughout my home leaked out from within the hole. The voice, so seductive, begged me to stare into it one more time. It promised me so many things. All I had to do was take one last look and what I desired would be mine. With each step, the voice grew louder but it wasn’t coming from the hole. In truth, it had no real location at all. The voice was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The thought of rejecting its offer never crossed my mind and before I knew it I was bending over, placing my hands against the wall, and looking into its depth again.
I awoke with a scream. The entirety of the dream still fresh in my mind, horribly vivid in every aspect other than its final moments. I had no recollection of what I saw, but whatever it was horrified me. I gasped for air desperately as I shot up and that’s when the smell hit me and my room came into focus. The door was wide open and I did not lay beneath the warm sheets of my bed. I slowly looked behind me and saw the hole above my head. I wasted no time. I lept to my feet and bolted out of the room. Grabbing my keys and wallet I left my apartment behind and drove down to the nearest hardware store. After thirty minutes I found myself standing back in my apartment with all the necessary tools to get rid of the hole in my two hands.
I didn’t have a single explanation for anything. The hole only confused me more and more after each interaction. There was not a single doubt in my mind that whatever I had found seemed to be impossible but deep down I wished for some form of logical explanation. With all rational aspects of my brain running on fumes, any clear answer stayed far out of reach. I dreaded looking at it again. Horrified at the prospect of losing more time and in all honesty despite the fact I knew what I had experienced the night prior was nothing more than a nightmare, it had left a horrible taste in my mouth. So standing there, with hours lost the day prior to a hole devoid of any light, I couldn’t help but question my own sanity. The truth is however even if whatever I was experiencing was all in my head I still wanted to be rid of it. I felt as though if I simply removed the hole then even if I was crazy it could no longer torment me. Or rather I could no longer torment myself with it.
Tightening my grip around my freshly purchased supplies I made my way toward the bedroom. As the door gently creaked open immediately I felt unnerved. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. It felt as though a thousand eyes were cast upon me. With a single but deep breath, I pushed away the strange feelings and approached the hole in my wall.
Although at bay my unease grew with every step forward. Carefully I set my tools down and looked toward the hole. I thought back to my dream and wondered what I could have seen within. Even with my fear and against my better judgment I decided to take one last look into it. Hoping with every fiber of my being that I was somehow mistaken the day prior. That there was some sort of explanation for whatever I was dealing with. So I turned my phone’s flashlight on and peered into the hole for what I hoped would be the final time.
It greeted me with what I unfortunately expected. A vast all consuming darkness which no light could penetrate and no objects could be seen. With my sanity in question and my fears confirmed I pushed myself away from the wall. The moment I did dread overtook me. The kind of dread that reaches down to your very core. I knew at that moment without a doubt everything about the situation was instinctually wrong as my now dead phone weighed heavy in my hand. This time I looked only for a moment yet again when I pulled away my room was cast in darkness. I think tears welled up in my eyes as I stood there, the realization setting in. Those tears didn’t last long however as soon rage took hold.
I made for the light switch and then for my tools. First I cut the mesh and applied it to the hole, then after that was done I applied the primer. It might sound dumb to say but I stood there and watched as it dried. I’d like to say I did it out of spite, for losing so much time already to the thing, and maybe that’s partially true, but the real reason I dared not move was out of fear. Fear for if I turned my back on it somehow it would be there once again. Hours passed and I remained until it was dry enough to sand. Once that was complete I pushed against the spot where it once stood half expecting my thumb to re-enter its cold depths, but the patch stood strong. With a weekend lost but thankful to be able to forget about whatever I had stumbled across, I decided to take a relaxing bath.
I sank into the hot water, feeling every ounce of stress leave my body. I stayed there for well over an hour feeling all my stress melt away bit by bit. Feeling fresh I exited the bath, and with a towel around my waist moved into the living room. I had work the next day and too much time had been lost already. I could feel the sting of hunger back with a vengeance and my throat felt drier than a desert. I cooked myself some hot dogs. Cut fresh mold off of buns that had only been a few days old and took a seat on the couch. I was so thirsty I drank four cups of water, it was the most I had ever had in one sitting. I felt terribly exhausted and lay back on my couch. With my front door in full view, it was only then I noticed the blinking red light on my home phone. I got back up and approached the small device. My hand hovered above the play button while worry took hold. Hesitantly I pushed the button and the message began to play.
“Hey Derrick this is Peter, it’s nine fifteen currently and I was just calling to see if you planned on showing up to work today. I know things can come up, so just call me back and let me know.”
It was my boss. There was a click and the next message began. He said the date and still as friendly as ever and asked where I was. Another message played and he repeated the date again, but it was different this time. It was two days later. Finally, the last message played.
“I’m sorry to say but this is unacceptable. It’s been all week and I haven’t heard a thing from you. I’ve tried calling your cell and nothing. I even stopped by your place but nobody was home. I got a business to run here and clearly, you’ve got other things going on, I’m gonna have to let you go Derrick.” The message ended abruptly after that.
I felt the world around me start to spin. My knees buckled as my legs lost all strength. I felt sick. All of this was impossible. None of it made any sense. Almost hyperventilating I simply muttered the word how over and over again. My hands shook as my eyes drifted down the hall. In a steady flow, it gently glided inches above the floor. To my horror, it was the black vapor from my dream. Charging down the hall in a daze I burst through the door only to find my patch job menacingly absent. My supplies still sat on the floor beneath the hole, but the effects of my handiwork were nowhere to be seen. The black vapor oozed out from the depths of the small circular cut and clouded over my floor. It was back. In a fit of anger, I returned to my living room. Rustling through drawers, I tossed items to the side one by one until my hands wrapped around a small hammer. I was back in the room in an instant and wasting no time I brought the teeth of the hammer crashing down into the wall. It caught nicely and I pulled back with all my might as chunks of drywall burst out around me. I repeated this act again and again and again and again and again and again until more hole remained than wall. I could finally see studs and insulation everything I hoped for. Then I blinked.
In that brief instant of time, all the damage I had done was restored. That perfect circle that was the hole presented itself before me perfectly untouched. I snapped then. I decided I’d tear the whole wall down if that’s what it took. I crouched down just below the hole and swung the blunt end of the hammer into it. The drywall exploded on impact and fell beneath the cloud at my feet. I continued as bits of wall shot out towards me until finally there was a hole big enough for me to fit my body into. Sticking my head through the freshly exposed area I looked up and instead of darkness once more I saw all I wished to see. The normal innards of a wall. Oddly enough from down there, no hole could be seen. I pulled back then, bits of loose drywall breaking off on my shoulders. When I stood the smile that had made its way across my face was wiped away in a moment. The unaffected hole remained before me.
I crouched back down and broke through the wall into the vacant apartment next to me. Crawling through, bits of draw wall, dust, and cobwebs clung to my body. The only thing on my mind at that point was the hole. I didn’t care about anything else. I simply wanted to be rid of whatever this thing was. Turning around I beat at the wall until hardly anything remained. After I was done, dripping with sweat, I should have guessed what I would see. From the other side of the wall, there was no hole at all. No darkness. Nothing more than what you’d expect to see when staring at the guts between two apartments. Bewildered, I returned to my own apartment back through the tunnel I had made and there it sat. Its eerie darkness showed nothing of what I had just done behind it.
It was then I screamed. Loud and without an ounce of care, until my voice was horse and dead. I stumbled backward feeling defeated and slumped against the wall opposite the hole. I stayed there, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. Its gaseous ooze, likely now filling my entire apartment. Deep within hidden beneath my fear and rage, beneath all the confusion and bewilderment, something pulled on a string. The feeling rose as I sat there staring at the hole. Something compelled me to look into it. I fought the urge as best I could, praying to never look into that darkness ever again. I lasted for as long as I could but broke soon after I heard the voice. It was the same one from my dream. I recognized it instantly. I stood before realizing I was walking towards it. Just like my dream, I looked into it.
The darkness greeted me once again but the moment my face came to rest against the cool wall I knew something was off. Within its murky confines for the first time, I could almost make something out. Barely more than an outline the gentle edges of something within the shadowed fog could be seen. I could feel my hair stand and my mind screamed at me to run but I stayed. I watched. Paralyzed I saw as at first, it twitched. I got the impression of something bulbous pushing and moving beneath tight skin. Then I saw it. Slowly it opened as the top and bottom parted revealing an eye staring back at me. Its sclera was so impossibly white it almost glowed. Through the darkness I could now see ink-like eyelids and lashes, and in the sea of white sat a black iris. It stared at me unblinking. I screamed and stumbled back from the wall. The moment I did six inky tendrils shot out from within the hole. They moved for my chest in a flash and dug into me. It burned as they writhed beneath my skin. I could feel every twitch as they dug deeper and deeper inside me. I looked up briefly to see the eye pressed against the edges of the hole. It squeezed together as it pushed through making a disgusting wet noise. It dug deeper inside me as the eye grew ever closer. When the wet eye made contact with my skin it didn’t cut through like the tendrils it simply kept moving. It forced itself inside me, burning every inch of the way.
I’m so cold now. I’m freezing, to be honest. It’s here. Inside of me. A bulbous protrusion that’s found its new home inside my chest. It’s watching me type this. I can feel it wiggling its appendages throughout my body. They’re moving everywhere. I feel them work their way through my arms, down my legs, and up my spine. I hear it speak to me. It says I’ve been chosen. It picked me for something. I don’t know what yet but I think we’re becoming one. I dont know how long I’ll have left, but i feel this is only the beginning. Through its whispers I can see. There’s so much I didn’t know. So many ideas. Things not meant for any mortal. Yet it still shows me. It has a purpose for me. For us. Together, we are one.
I made the choice to stare into the darkness and now I will never go back. I’m glad. After all, I finally got my story.