Behind

(I'm finding that I really enjoy writing stories in the form of letters or testimonies, so maybe that will become more common in my work.)



Behind


Reader, as you sit in your comfortable chair and begin to look over this text, I urge you to not explore the forsaken planes of our world that have completely consumed my own mind. This is my last will and testament to a study that following my last touch of pen to paper, will take my life from me.

I began to unravel the thread of psychosis and nightmare only three nights ago and the paranoia has taken everything from me. I sit here, in my cold study, thirsty and tired, but my eyes cannot close. I have not moved from this spot since I arrived, three days prior. I had returned home from my usual daily errands and tasks and sat down in this chair, the finely upholstered grand Victorian chair my late wife purchased me when we first moved into this house. This hell.

As I sat at my chair, I began shuffling through the day's various newspapers and reading whatever articles were of interest to me. Minutes turned into hours, and the daylight seeping through my windows turned into the dreary glow of twilight. I leaned across my desk and turned on a small lamp to continue reading. The lamp lit up my desk and the grey paper I was reading with a soft, almost sickening yellow light. I strained my eyes to continue reading, but after a few moments, decided I would be better off to employ my reading glasses, so not to further damage my vision.

I got out of my chair, and walked across my study, past bookshelves lined with collections of authors I had only heard of, but never read. Heavy, ominous leather-bound books with gold print. I glanced at them as I passed. I reached into the drawer of the table at the end of the shelves and removed my glasses, in their soft velvet case.

The door frame in the corner of my study settled and creaked and the noise made me jump at first, but my logical mind dismissed it quickly, and I took the glasses back to my comfortable chair in front of my desk. As I softly placed the glasses upon my face, I heard my house settle again, as it often did. The creaking wood would groan for a split second now and then, but soon after, it would hush itself and return to its archaic silence. I glanced up at the ceiling from behind my glasses at the sound, on instinct alone.

Above my desk is a grand mirror, standing four feet tall by two and a half feet wide, and as my eyes quickly scanned past these reflective panes, I saw it. The shadow in the doorway. The horror lurking in my study. And just as fast as I realized what I had seen, I glanced back into my mirror, and nothing was there. My imagination had once again gotten the best of my lonely, idle mind. I let out a quick sigh of relief, and began reading again.

After I was finished with the evening's papers, I glanced to my watch, and came to the realization that I had been reading for quite some time, as it was already nine o'clock. I removed my glasses and ran my fingers over the indents they had left in the sides of my nostrils. I shut my eyes tight as my fingers gave comfort to the marks, and while they massaged, I heard another creak from my aged home. This time not from the upstairs floorboards settling, but the pipes in the wall to my right. I shuddered, which was uncommon, and again had to reason with myself that this was an old home, and I needed to overcome whatever childish fears had grabbed hold of me this night.

This was the second time I saw the shadow. I stared myself in the face, trying to silently tell myself that I was fine, and in the corner of my study, it crept into my periphery. I could see it clearly this time, but again only for a split second, until my conscious mind emitted it as a shadow, cast by my chair, or the bookshelves. I know its there. I know its watching me.

I have not slept now, in three days. I listen for every noise. I read every word in these expired papers over and over again, to keep myself sane and functioning. The shadow comes for me whenever I let my guard down. I see it. I know what it wants. And so I no longer have the strength or energy to live this way. At night, I am a slave to this horror, and during the day I am too paralyzed with fear and paranoia to move from the safety of my chair. When this account is complete, I will fall into the depths, and my idle mind will no longer be safe.

Reader, do not scoff at what I write here. Do not write me off to be insane. As you read this, you are being watched as well. Humanity lives its life, day in and day out, as I am living mine right now. Humanity lives with its back to the obvious evils living amongst us.

The creaks you hear at night as you lie in bed, the noises with no origin that you decide are wood shifting, or tree branches outside of your window, pipes in the walls, they are not what you assume. You, reader, are living with your back to their world, as they gaze into yours with hungering eyes and malicious intent.

You are being watched as you read this, and the creeping ghoul over your shoulder will retreat again to the common shadows you find comfort in, only to escape again when you convince yourself he is not there at all.

Just as I am powerless, so are you.

Goodnight.