Dec. 6th, 1999
I'm not sure what to make of my current situation. Do I bow to my instincts and gut feelings, letting this fear that has fallen upon me control my movements and strategy? Or do I trust in the cold logic that I am so fond of when confronting the vast tide of darkness beyond man's feeble understanding? Either way it seems I am damned. Logic would dictate that what I have seen cannot exist and yet the tremble in my hand and the sweat running down my spine seems to dispute what science says cannot be.
At first it wasn't anything. Shadows in the corner of my eye, windows rattling with the wind, the hairs on my neck telling me that I was being watched. Little, inconsequential things that one will always experience when working in the late hours of the night. The absence of other human beings will let the mind play terrible tricks in the darkness passed midnight. And at first that is all I thought it was, my mind. Yet as the weeks pressed on I noticed more and more that those little occurrences were growing in scale and frequency.
I saw movement where there could only be stillness. I heard doors open when they were locked. I felt hands touch my shoulder when I stood alone.
Then the voices began... Small whispers that never say anything of importance. Murmuring endless nothings that no living person, not even myself, was meant to comprehend. They were followed by the drums in the night. Off in the hills and through the darkened trees of the parks I could hear them echoing. Coming out like a steady heartbeat that would eventually become a staccato rhythm.
Then came The Figures.
It was always different. A man, a woman, a child, a mere shadow across the street. But always I would see their eyes and know the truth. Bright amber irises that shone like those of an animal in the night's few lights. I would see them in passing or, at times, they would look at others near me and I would see them for what they truly were. Fate though, it seems, is not without a sense of humor, because where I thought that an otherworldly host had taken root around me, stealing our faces and walking among us, it seems I was gravely mistaken.
There was no host, no untold numbers, there was just the one; a predator that stalks us as we would the lesser beasts of the wilds. I would see those amber eyes fall upon others and think that they were doomed to join the endless Figures. But yesterday I looked into amber eyes and I saw the curved smile of a wolf in human skin. It comes for me now, it hunts me even as I pen this.
Logic tells me to stand and Instinct tells me to flee. The only question left to me is, does prey stand or flee in the face of the predator?
What I'm Listening To As I Write:
At first it wasn't anything. Shadows in the corner of my eye, windows rattling with the wind, the hairs on my neck telling me that I was being watched. Little, inconsequential things that one will always experience when working in the late hours of the night. The absence of other human beings will let the mind play terrible tricks in the darkness passed midnight. And at first that is all I thought it was, my mind. Yet as the weeks pressed on I noticed more and more that those little occurrences were growing in scale and frequency.
I saw movement where there could only be stillness. I heard doors open when they were locked. I felt hands touch my shoulder when I stood alone.
Then the voices began... Small whispers that never say anything of importance. Murmuring endless nothings that no living person, not even myself, was meant to comprehend. They were followed by the drums in the night. Off in the hills and through the darkened trees of the parks I could hear them echoing. Coming out like a steady heartbeat that would eventually become a staccato rhythm.
Then came The Figures.
It was always different. A man, a woman, a child, a mere shadow across the street. But always I would see their eyes and know the truth. Bright amber irises that shone like those of an animal in the night's few lights. I would see them in passing or, at times, they would look at others near me and I would see them for what they truly were. Fate though, it seems, is not without a sense of humor, because where I thought that an otherworldly host had taken root around me, stealing our faces and walking among us, it seems I was gravely mistaken.
There was no host, no untold numbers, there was just the one; a predator that stalks us as we would the lesser beasts of the wilds. I would see those amber eyes fall upon others and think that they were doomed to join the endless Figures. But yesterday I looked into amber eyes and I saw the curved smile of a wolf in human skin. It comes for me now, it hunts me even as I pen this.
Logic tells me to stand and Instinct tells me to flee. The only question left to me is, does prey stand or flee in the face of the predator?
What I'm Listening To As I Write:
- Red Fox By Tomahawk
- Cthulhu Dreams By The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets
- Red Right Hand By Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
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