It feels strange to talk about this in such a way, writing down what happened that night. Writing it down and letting it out to strangers I’ll most likely never meet. Telling people who, in all honesty, don’t even care about what was the most horrific experience of my life: a single event that changed the course of my existence and reforged even the most basic aspects of my personality.
I have never spoken a word to anyone about what happened that night. I’ve never even told my wife. To be honest, I’m more than a little afraid of what she thinks happened to me. As far as she could most likely tell, I woke up one morning a completely different person. But I think knowing the truth would only serve to frighten her, and there would be absolutely nothing that could be done to remedy the situation. No planning, talking, or preparation could fix this. It always come back. In fact, I expect it to come back at any time, now. Even further, this is assuming she would believe me in the first place. So, nothing can be done. Why bother? This is my own personal demon now, and I can’t allow myself to pull others into the Hell I walked into.
I don’t have the slightest idea about what time it was. “Late” is as accurate as I could safely say. My wife was in bed and had been there for a while. I had stayed up a little later than usual, knowing I was, for whatever reason, fully awake and only frustration awaited me should I lay down in an attempt to force my way into sleep. It was, however, now getting really late and I did work the next morning. I’d be lucky to wake up on time as is. So, I turned the TV off, but continued to sit on the couch trying to find the will to get up to make my way to bed.
My dog had been laying with me the whole time. On these late nights of mine, she often sprawled out between my legs and slept. She had always done that since my wife and I had gotten her as a pup, and tonight was no different. I watched her long, brown-haired body rise and fall deeply as her small frame slept in total bliss. She even snored lightly. I smiled half-heartedly as I thought of how irritated she would be if I made her move so I could get up. I even considered spending the night on the couch so as to not disturb her.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately as fate would have it, I didn’t need to wake her; she woke up on her own. She woke up, and she was suddenly very, very scared. She jumped from couch to the floor and started looking back and forth from the door to me.
I suppose it’s possible that she just heard something, but quiet as it was in the house, I don’t think I missed a sound from outside that would have woken her from such a sound and deep sleep. No, I feel it much more likely that she sensed something. I think she had felt what was about to transpire, and it frightened her.
Before I continue, I have to be upfront. What I experienced directly after this point was very peculiar. For at this point, the entire world became what I could only describe as surreal. It was as if I were in some sort of waking dream, some sort of mirror world where everything was almost exactly as it was before. Even the most uninteresting thing emitted the aura of the uncanny valley. Everything seemed vibrant yet dull at the same time. It was as if time stood still, but everything seemed to move at an incredible pace. It is the single most frustratingly difficult thing to describe with words, and the closest that I can come to translate this vision to paper is a single, inadequate word: sophistic.
At first, I was intrigued by the phenomena. The fact I could see my home in front of me, and yet, somehow, it no longer felt like my home. It was mesmerizing and through this new perspective I could see the smallest detail with ease. Furniture that wasn’t quite perfectly centered, and small pieces of debris that had been left on the floor after vacuuming it earlier that day. This new perspective I had was enriching to me, even empowering. No one that had ever been in my home had noticed these small things, but I had. I felt special in a sense, as if my senses had somehow spontaneously evolved into something more than they had. The synapses in my brain were firing at a speed that shamed everyone else in the world.
I’m unsure how long I relished in this mirror “world”. It could have been hours, days, weeks, or even seconds. Although I can’t point to any type of reasoning for the phenomena, it felt as if time were completely stalled. However long it was, the marvelousness did wear off, and I was left with this feeling of dread. The intensity of my senses began to become overwhelming, and I began to fear I had started losing my sanity. The smallest sound echoed through my skull and pierced my eardrums just as the smallest movement seemed to release a tidal wave of force across reality. My very senses had seemed to turn on me, and then it began to fade, or rather I began to grow accustomed to it. I’m not entirely sure which, but this mirror-world I saw in front of me, although beginning to feel darker and more bleak, was still not quite the same as I remembered it from my years there.
I was still sitting on the edge of the couch, and my dog was standing in front of me looking up at my face from the floor. With hesitancy, I reached down to pet her as I poured all my thought into trying to understand what was happening. With the miraculousness of the moments before beginning to fade, it was being replaced with a haunting sense of realism in thought and I began to wonder exactly what had happened and why.
I didn’t have but a moment to reflect on the reflection of reality I seemed to have stumbled into as my dog’s sudden bark ripped me from my thoughts. Still unsure as to what was happening, I studied the animal as if she would impart on me some flash of inspiration. However, all that I gathered from her was that she was afraid. The fur on her back was perked upward in a physical response that conveyed her fright. I saw her tail was tucked tightly between her hind legs, her ears were back, and head tilted down in submission. I saw the muscles in her legs so taught and ready to run that, even through her thick coat, I could see them twitching with strain. I began to strain my ears to listen for whatever it was that my dog was so afraid of.
Even giving the oddity that I had experienced with the”mirror world”, I was still fairly grounded in reason at this point. Rationality spoke to me, reminding that the dog was easily startled. The wind would often times induce a panic that was simultaneously hilarious and pitiful. So it was, to my surprise, under the trembling of the dog and the whisper of my own breathing, I heard the source of her terror. It was not the wind rustling branches, and it was not the sound of a house making creaks. It was not the sound of the distant traffic, or the sounds of fallen leaves billowing in a night breeze. What I heard was the most quiet of scraping noises that seemed to be methodically circling the small trailer in which I lived. I listened to this noise as it scraped against the wall opposite me and listened as it continued its rotation growing more faint until inaudible as it traveled away. I listened as began becoming perceptible to my ear again. I could hear it grow more distinct as it came closer. I heard it come to the door, and heard the scraping cease immediately, only to be replaced by the faint sound of the door pressing against the frame as if it was being gently pushed. When the door wouldn’t open, the sound began to circle around again. I listened to it make two or three of these mechanical laps before the my mind caught up with what was happening. Something was trying to come inside, but was not trying to turn the door knob.
My first thought was an animal. After all, a person would know how a door works. But the meticulousness of the thing seemed to suggest something with at least some level of intelligence.
I began to plan to wait by the window and wait for the thing to pass by on it’s patterned route so as to see what it was. However, it was back at the front door and apparently had chosen this to have been its last lap. It stayed at the door, continually pressing gently against it, trying to get inside. I cursed under my breath as I listened to the door struggle against the frame over and over. It could not have done one more pass. There was no way possible for me to see what was directly in front of that door without opening it, which, given the circumstance, did not seem to be a good idea.
I don’t know why I did what I did. Thinking now, it was the most foolish thing I had ever done, and I cannot explain why I chose this path. It was as if, though I had had control of my body, I was not in control of my mind. I could have, should have, called for help. I should have woken my wife. Almost any other action that I could have taken would have made more sense, but I did none of those. I may as well had opened the front door and faced the thing head on. It would have saved a lot of trouble, but I, for reasons I cannot explain, chose this path. I went to my bedroom and pulled the handgun I had in the nightstand out and went to the back door. I put the clip in the pistol, and took a deep breath, readying myself.
I am not a gun person. In fact, I didn’t even own one. This wasn’t even my pistol. My cousin had brought it over a few months prior because there had been some suspicious people wandering around at the time. They were long gone by this point, but he just hadn’t picked it back up. I smiled lightly as I thought of how lucky I was of his procrastination. As a result of my inexperience, the gun felt odd in my hand, unbalanced. I somewhat awkwardly cocked it so it was ready to fire, but knew if I had to shoot, there would be a very high chance I would miss unless the target was right on me. I considered changing plans, but the idea almost instantly vanished. For some reason I simply cannot explain, I felt this to be my only option. I couldn’t force another alternative into my mind. This is what has to happen. This is what I have to do. These words echo in my head now as clearly as they did that night.
I took another deep breath and placed my hand on the lock of the back door and listened to ensure that whatever was outside was still at the front door. My resolve hardened at the realization it was still there, silently pressing on the door. I quietly unlocked the back door and soundlessly opened it.
As I cautiously stepped outside, I was greeted only with the cool night air. It was at the breaking of Summer and the birthing of Fall. The leaves were starting to turn to different shades of red and yellow but still hung tightly to the limbs of the trees. With every gentle breeze, I heard them rustling against each other above me. I was thankful they hadn’t fallen. As many trees that surrounded the property it would be impossible to move with any stealth. They did, however, almost completely block the moon and star light, so my visibility was exceptionally limited. I thought about using the flashlight on my phone but disregarded the notion as quickly as it came. A flashlight would give me away.
I was on a fairly secluded street, with the only house visible to me from any part of the property was my former neighbor’s. She had unfortunately died only a few weeks prior, and so it was empty. The next closest dwelling was a football field’s length away from my home and had dense trees and brush separating us, not to mention a small creek. We could not even see each other during the clearest of conditions. This all ran through my mind as I walked down the steps from my door to the grass below. In a moment of clear rationale, I realized I was alone. My wife was asleep, and there was no real hope that anyone would be coming to help me should this turn badly. I thought momentarily again about turning around, making a run for the door, slamming it shut and calling anyone for help, but that moment of clarity was fleeting, being whisked away before even really finished. I was alone. I had to deal with this alone. Right now, no one could help me. Again, I realize even as I write this, my logic was broken. There were a multitude of alternative paths I could have taken at this point, but I cannot understate the unnatural draw that pulled me into the decisions I made. Although I could see alternatives, the alternatives seemed to have these completely insurmountable obstacles surrounding them even if they were minor inconveniences at worst. To be truthful, the resounding nature of these broken ideas haunt me, and I find myself at odds even today as to whether I could have done things differently.
My ears remained perked, listening for any sign of the thing, as I crept around the trailer. Gripping the pistol and beginning the trek around the property, I meticulously scanned my surroundings in all directions as if I were in a foreign war zone instead of the place I called home. I was determined to not be caught by surprise in the dark of night. I knew if I made it to the front, the street lights would illuminate the area around me much better, and I would be able to see this thing that so desperately wanted to get inside. I gripped the pistol tightly with my finger resting on the trigger ready to fire. Although the single wide trailer was small, this journey from the back yard to the front was the longest journey of my life; every step equated to miles. Sweat covered my body and I felt my heart throbbing in my chest. I tried to concentrate on controlling my breathing, on keeping it slow and quiet. My senses were on fire; every detail was seen to such exacting extremes, every sound could be felt in my chest, the taste of my own dry mouth was excruciating. The smells of the outside swirled around me in flurry wisps and waves. The closer I made it to turning the corner into the front of my home, the more intense my senses became and the more precise the details of every blade of grass become. I was not home. I was in some sort of pseudo reality where the definition was more breathtaking than reality.
I was almost there. I just had to make the last turn and I would be able to see this thing that had been terrorizing me for what seemed an eternity. One more step would give me the peace that it was a raccoon or some other animal. Obviously, it was nothing. Something that should have just been ignored and everything would have been completely fine. I just knew I was blowing things out of proportion. I almost smiled as I confidently stepped forward and turned toward my front door.
I did not see a raccoon. I did not see another animal. I did not see any of the things I had hoped to see. What I saw… I have no name for. I have no description for. There are no combination of the twenty six letters that I have at my disposal to accurately describe this Lovecraftian-esque thing. What I saw I could only think was the true inspiration for the books of horror that sit on our bookshelves: inadequate tales of the true monster that stood at my door. At first glance, appeared to be a human. But as I stared dumbly at it for a moment, my eyes began to notice the differences between us. Its naked back was facing mostly toward me, and I could see the bones of its heavily arched spine nearly protruding from the hairless, sickly gray skin on its overly slender shape. It was squatted in front of my door with one grotesquely thin arm on the ground holding its disgusting form up while the other was held up to the door. At the end of that arm was a hand that, instead of fingers, had agonizingly long protrusions that came to a terrifying point and glistened in the light as if dipped into some dark viscous liquid.
I couldn’t breathe as I stared at it. Every muscle in my body wanted to turn and run but was paralyzed. My muscles were frozen in a stage of tautness so intense I began to feel pain coursing through my body. I was being completely baptized in fear. I tried to open my mouth to scream, but not even a gurgle escaped my petrified throat. I wanted to shut my eyes so I couldn’t see this horrific creature, but I couldn’t avert my gaze. I desperately tried to pray this abomination away, but my mind couldn’t form the words in the presence of this unholy corruption. I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t. I was alone with no one that I could even begin to hope would save me.
As I watched this thing slowly and quietly press against my front door, the initial shock began to subside, and I thought again to try and run away. Just as I had determined to run, I saw it’s head begin to shift around toward me. My heart froze as the horrifying reality sunk in. This thing, this creature, this unnamed abomination knew I was there. It knew I was there and had decided now was the time to turn and greet me properly.
I saw it’s face for the first time and it was equally ineffable. Eyes like black pits of tar and nostrils flaring with each breath, it stared at me. I was petrified as I stared back into those black, soulless eyes, but my heart sank even further than what I knew was possible when I saw it’s wide mouth. It was smiling at me.
The realization nearly crushed me. That abnormally broad smile on it’s face is burned into me. It had known I was there the entire time. It had known I had come outside. It had known I had crept through my yard. It had known I would find it. It had known I would be afraid, and it had purposely waited for that fear to reach every corner of my body and mind, before finally revealing that it knew. It wanted to make this impact on me as intense as it possible.
Fear had overtaken me. No matter what I did at this point, I now knew my fate was in this creature’s hands. It retained the power of life and death over me, and I had no choice but to resign myself to it. I felt the pistol I had pitifully brought with me fall from my hand to the ground as it started slowly, torturously, crawling toward me. While it had the visage of a humanoid like creature, the way it clambered over the rail induced a churning in my stomach. I thought for sure I would vomit as I saw the unnatural contortions of the joints and bones of this creature as it made its way toward me in the most disgusting of ways.
As the fell abomination came closer, I began to smell the odor of rotting flesh and old blood. I began to gag from the smell once it was within a couple of feet. Once it was within arms reach of me it stopped and finally stood upright. The sickeningly thin body effortlessly straightened. I still can’t imagine there any room for muscle between its bone and skin to hold its form, let alone stand up straight. It towered above me and I looked up into the black pits that made the creature’s eyes, I realized how my original perception of it’s size was wrong. The awkward arching and thin body had made it look slightly smaller than me at a distance, but up close and standing erect it was easily two heads above me.
The monster’s smile continued to broaden as it stared at me until it’s closed mouth couldn’t contain it any more and started to part to accommodate the growing grin of what seemed to be malicious excitement. As the creature’s dry, thin lips parted, I began to see the shimmer of what was its teeth: rows and rows of what appeared to be needles. Teeth that would be useless in grinding plants, or tearing flesh in defense or for consumption, but seemed perfectly designed to simply torture and agonize whatever it decided to. The very biology of this thing seemed to be predisposed to its malefic nature.
I stood there in absolute silence as I felt tears starting to roll silently down my face, totally resigned to my fate by this cursed thing. I stared it in it’s tar pit eyes as it slowly raised a “finger” to my left shoulder and traced my arm with the talon. I felt the coldness of the point gently caressing my skin the way a mother would a child. The feigning of softness was juxtaposed by the coldness of the touch; it was as if the sharp point of an icicle was being brushed against my skin. I wanted to recoil, but I was under its spell. Had I not allowed it to come to this? Didn’t I deserve whatever happened next?
I felt a slight sting as the thing flicked its wrist. This quickly followed a slowly growing warmth on my forearm as I felt tension leaving my body in a rush that I can only describe as if my very soul was taken in an embrace. It lifted the pointing finger back up to its face revealing the blood, my blood, on the tip and it began to slowly consume the red liquid, relishing every particle. As I saw the debauchery in front of me, the feelings of disgust of the creature and myself came flooding back. The stolen blood sacrifice seemed to quell the creature a bit, and it shrunk back from the horrific towering beast to the grotesque lurching creature it had been when I first saw it at the door just moments before. It bore it’s needle teeth once more in a delighted smile, illustrating further that it was content with what it had taken from me. Even in my state of resignation and numbness, I was slightly surprised when it began to speak.
“Go.” The single word was all it said, but it carried the weight of a long forgotten tome. The voice was hushed, like a whisper. However, it was a mimicry. A blatant blasphemy of human speech. Its voice was discordant with multiple, simultaneous pitches that would not harmonize in any musical system or context. It was grating and dripped with the venom of hate, suffering, and destruction that exuded from that simple word. Its whispered voice was gleeful, yet still even and calm. It was brash, yet somehow still forbearing.
I didn’t question it. I didn’t think twice. I walked back around the house without looking back to see the monster again. I didn’t run frantically but walked deliberately. There was no need to run. I was powerless in all respects to this thing. I belonged to it now. It had broken me seemingly beyond repair. Broken me so much it stole my very blood while I stood there looking at it in its tar pit eyes. This profane offering was proof; if it wanted me dead, there was no strength I had in me to stop it. I knew it, and so did the creature. I went inside and dressed the single gash on my upper forearm and laid down in the bed.
It has been two years since that night, and the creature routinely visits me. At first, it was only in the quiet of night, but as time went on it began appearing everywhere at almost a moments notice. Even in crowds of people, I would begin hearing it and would begin searching it out. I don’t have the strength to fight it. It would always be in a quiet and secluded place: waiting for me to arrive. Every now and then, it will be absent for a few days, even weeks or months. But I know it will be back. I’m its newest plaything, but it wants to try and keep me guessing, I suppose. I’m not sure how long it will keep me, but I am sure it will eventually kill me. There is nothing that I can do to stop it. Even now I entertain the wishes of screaming for help, but what could I say? I can only imagine the look of concern on my wife’s face as I would tell her about this monster, a concern not so much of the thing, but of the irrationality of the story being told. It only cements it in my mind that there is to be no reprieve. This is who I am now, a living blood sacrifice to this monster that haunts me without ceasing. It has stolen everything of me now, a little at a time. I don’t know how much more it can take before there is nothing left. I think that is the plan: to slowly, piece by piece take my essence from me so as to stretch out the pleasure of killing me. I don’t think it will be much longer before it finishes it’s long term goal. In such a state as I am now, I think about throwing myself on the needles of teeth in its mouth so as to try to hide from the realization that I am essentially already dead.
I write this in my one and only desperate attempt to find help. Please. Help. Me.