I often contemplate the horrors of the world and the people that live within it, and if they’re actually aware of the monsters that are hiding in plain sight, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. The unfortunate thing is that these creatures are clever and have hidden themselves away within the inner working social structures of modern society. It would be impossible to lure them out as many have integrated themselves into the fleshy fabric of reality that we’ve grown so nauseatingly accustomed to. And to further this, it is unfortunate that very few will read these words and hold them to the embers of truth. They will be waved away and my mental state will be considered endangered by those lacking the imagination to refute my claims. A wave of the hand will ensue and I will be forced to return to the writing board so that I may persist with my writings and ramblings of things that are true to myself, but that lack truth for others.
I have been barred from the norms of society, locked away inside a padded room of my own creation due to the forceful nature of my naysayers. Whether they are of the same breed as the creatures I’ve seen or are simply bred in ignorance, I lack the knowledge to truly know; And I lack the support, really, to do anything about it. All I can do is warn others of their plan—their goals for the future of humanity and how to gain freedom from their rule.
Unfortunately, those who’ve succumbed to the creature are already dead, their bodies no more than suits of flesh and bone. Their minds have been eaten away from the parasitic virus that now has complete neural control over the once lively human. Everything about their lives; who they were, who influenced their thoughts and emotions (for better or for worse), what their interests were, or what their talents may have been. Each and every literal characteristic that created the personified image of that one human being—no longer meant anything. The image still resonated in the memories of those who were in contact with the individual, but they were still dead. And once everyone they ever knew died, then the individual would no longer exist. Because of this, I call them the dead ones, and I call their hosts brain frogs.
To further my explanation, you’d imagine by the appearance of these creatures that they would be called something like an octopus, but I have my reasons for naming them as such—reasons that aren’t of any importance to this story, nor are they important to your survival. For that, I will stick to the script.
I am writing this so that whoever reads it may have the chance that I never could; the chance to live, to exist in a world so beautifully put together, and to be allowed a choice to decide whether the perception of reality is safer, more secure, and under a blanket of a carefully crafted imagination—or whether it’s time to accept the truth in all its ugliness. Had I known the truth then, I’d have chosen to remain ignorant for fear of going mad from knowing too much. Though if I were to believe in the illusion, I wouldn’t know that I was already dead and my body was never really mine. Knowing the truth and seeing things for what they were is what destroyed me, what will destroy me further. And not knowing would leave me to imagine the countless possibilities of what the truth might be, and I’d be wandering the earth for the rest of my days, wondering about all of it—and what the truth really is.
I couldn’t quite decide on either the truth or the illusion solely because the action in question still occurred under both circumstances. Preston Marsh died either way you roll the dice, and his replacement will have to live with the fact that he can remember the entire event. In order for brain frogs to survive, they’re meant to inhabit the host without memories of their true selves. It allows for a false sense of purpose to be implanted into the minds of the dead ones, so that the parasite can feed on the host’s spinal fluid without resistance. To the unknowing victim, it’s as if nothing in their lives is any different. To an individual that is on the brink of “awakening” from this, it comes to them as a form of madness, which can lead to a long and dreadful sense of helplessness. It can lead to suicide and the rest, as well. Only when he accepts the truth one way or another can he be free from wonder and doubt, and suspicion; even if the truth is that the illusion is a safer version of reality than the truest version possible.
I allowed myself to believe that I could survive knowing that my life was no longer based in the reality that I was born into; a perceived, fictitious reality that I never entirely knew the truth about. Everything that was once illustrated with authenticity had now become a noticeably fabricated lie. Knowing that the truth had been a lie, and that I’d been replaced by something else entirely, I tried to understand the madness, though that proved rather impossible. Madness was never meant to be understood, and the sooner one understood this, the better off their lives would be.
Its goal was to keep its victims docile and content, susceptible to being easily influenced by outside forces. Oftentimes it would feed on the human tendency of succumbing to addiction in order to maintain control over the mind and body. Survival is all that was desired and all it yearned for. The creature in me bred with my insides, tearing apart my flesh and hollowing me out until I was nothing more than a meat suit for the creature to use in whichever way it wanted. And because of this, its desires were achieved through me as a vessel.
I wondered for how long the creature could survive without a host, however it was of no concern to me. Now that I was infected, if I were to remove the parasite, I would be dead before the monstrosity hit the floor. If there was anyone in the room with me, the parasite would then target them. Ultimately, my only option would be to end my life and the brain frog along with it. The problem with that, however, was that I had no control over bodily functions any longer. The creature twisted the tentacles extruding from its fleshy reptilian body into a cylindrical tube-like form that connected itself to the spinal cord. For every breath the creature exhaled into existence, an electrical pulse would reverberate down through its tentacles and throughout my entire nervous system. Because of this I was no longer myself, but what I can’t quite seem to understand is how I am able to have such intrusive and extra-terrestrial thoughts if I’m already dead. In reality I imagined that all I would see thereafter was complete and utter nothingness. I did not intend on being the passenger in a private plane that I had no control over. It was a tremendously troubling thought, but it persisted.
It has also sullied my perception of humanity, placing horrific thoughts within my psyche about the dominant species inhabiting this nightmarish wasteland of emotionless, self-serving chaos. And once upon a time I’d thought that the emotional atmosphere of the terrestrial bog that was Earth had been blessed with authenticity, not realizing the true cruelty of the human race. The creature within me had at least been honest with its intentions, whereas those surrounding me were not. Too many lies, too many self-concerned individuals that wished no care for those willing to bring forth good into the world. Good did not equate to Happiness, here. Only did the lies we tell ourselves when we lie awake in the midst of night have any revelation of truth to their form.
And with fate upon its heels, an eerie knock on the living room door forced my attention away from my thoughts and towards reality. It continued on for several more seconds, though with each passing of the hourglass the wrapping on the old oak formed a sense of urgency that caused a sort of adrenaline rush to run its course through my veins. Another sense of hunger found its way into not only my stomach, but the idea of killing and devouring whoever stood beyond the door, beyond my world, entered my mind, And I knew that it wasn’t me who felt the urge to kill and consume. I knew that I never once imagined harming another person, not even a stranger. I knew that all of my thoughts weren’t my own, and that every one of my senses were of the parasite that killed me. I acted as a passenger that could communicate with the world, but not act within it—almost like two separate beings.
The turning of the doorknob of the oak struck a sense of both excitement and fear. The suspense of the individual beyond the door could’ve stopped my heart from beating. My mouth began to water as the edges of the door creaked open. I hadn’t known it in that particular moment, but it wasn’t from hunger that my mouth was watering. A few moments later, breathing became extremely difficult. I began choking on my tongue that felt like it rolled back into my throat, and I continued gasping for the little bit of air that could find its way into my lungs. Though as time went on, I realized that it hadn’t been my tongue that rolled back in my throat, but rather something was trying to find its way out of my body.
By the time the door had fully swung open by the visitor, the slimily bulbous presence emerged from my mouth and onto the floor, tentacles slowly protruding from all sides of its body. A closer look and I could now see what I feared from the beginning. The brain-like creatures were real, and I’d unfortunately given birth to one of them. I learned from watching them further that the brain frogs merge with other life in order to procreate, preventing their species from undergoing a mass extinction. I thought it to be an incredibly sad meaning to life, but to my dismay it’s how I would live the rest of my empty life, and so too will it be my sister Amelia’s unfortunate end as she walked through my front door at the exact moment that I’d regretfully given life to a second of these creatures, another brain frog.