I don’t recall the first time I saw it. A caliginous, brooding shape, looming and lurking in the darkest recesses of my unconscious mind. I would awake, breath falling short and perspiring uncontrollably, my frail frame paralysed by a fear that doth grew with each passing of the moon that would haunt the twilight hours in which I would be threw from my slumber in incapacitating horror. I could never explain what I saw each time I would pass into sleep, just a black, almost formless mist that would strike me with a sense of foreboding. Try as I might to tell others, none would dare believe me. I would be criticised and made mockery of every time I were to mention the shape that plagued my dreams.
These fiendish visions tormented me throughout most of my adolescence, up until 7 days past in which I awoke from my terrifying sub-conscience, but this time found that the formless shape had appeared to follow me from my nightmarish dream lands and into my waking reality. It was there, at the foot of my bed, taking no solid physique. The shadow shew’d no expression, as if it were emotionless, vacant. There seemed to be no discernible facial features or perceptible limbs, merely a floating void of mist and dust and shadow. Dread and fear filled me, the air circulating my chambers grew cold, my breathing frantic and desperate. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. It was at this time that I realised I had begun to scream.
Days passed, each one sewing itself into the next like a dress composed of a thousand other garments. I would scarce leave my apartment unless needed, for fear that I may see that formless shape from the corner of my eye, wondering, stalking, haunting my every waking moment. I never saw it in clear view after, though I could have sworn that it was there, watching and waiting just beyond my peripheral depth. That is until last night.
It came just after twilight, like a crepuscular being, at the footing of my bed once more. This time, to my complete terror yet utter bewilderment, it spake. It was difficult to make out any form of structure to its sentencing, any syllables that I could discern making the speech further confusing. The tongue was alien, with its voice, if you could call it as such, inauspicious and otherworldly. A sense of foreboding carried through the ominous ramblings, as if the lurking shape were trying to send warning of a doom that seemed certain. I knew not that my fate had been sealed at this precise moment. The foreign speech ended abruptly, the entity disappearing without trace, just as it had done so on the night of our previous encounter. Though I did not know what the being spoke of, I knew deep down that something worse was yet to come.
These events have lead me to this precise moment, as I scramble to piece together all the nightmares that have been as much a part of my life as the very air I have breathed. Something is coming, of that I am certain. I do not know whether I shall see the sun rise on the next morn. If you are to come across this letter, know that I may be dead, or a subject to a fate worse. Something is coming. I can hear it now, drawing nearer to my chambers. I pray that my fate be swift. It’s at the door. I can hear it. It can hear me. Something is here…
