I've always loved finishing my night with a trip down the internet rabbit hole of urban legends, myths - reading everything I could find about the subject of the night. I got to the point where I honestly felt I might run out of content to consume.
I had just wrapped up a marathon reading session, starting with the usual haunts, but I'd ended up on some website I'd definitely never seen before. The content was great, though - legit scary, almost all POV stories. The authors had a remarkable knack for detail; truly imaginative. Some seemed loosely based on mythical creatures, but others were quite unique. It had been a long night, but I'd hit upon something rare. I'd long since developed a tolerance for horror, gore, and so forth. These, though – they hit differently. Unique, and genuinely terrifying even to a long-time reader. I had the oddest sensation. More than general discomfort. True dread. I didn't.... even remember the last time an internet site made me feel this way,
Of course, they're just stories. Obviously those nightmare creatures didn't exist. I was sure of that. They were the products of imagination of millions of writers across the globe, often coordinating efforts to construct believable tales of terror.
But still... dread is different. The fear is certain, and palpable. You KNOW something is wrong, even if you can't identify the source just yet. This story was so carefully written – so tremendously detailed – It was as if an artist had painstakingly drawn a real-life portrait of a subject to which they were considerably familiar.
It had been dead silent for at least an hour - not even the pitter patter of little kitten feet. And yet, when I turned around, there it was. Right behind me. As if it had materialized in that exact spot.
Please pay attention closely. The details are critical.
The creature - I don't have a name for it, how could I - is roughly human-shaped. There's no skin to speak of - just a white, bone-like substance. It's about... 6 feet tall ? It's draped in a black cloak, hanging off the skeletal structure in a rather nonchalant fashion. The skull is reminiscent of the famous scream mask, but with deep, drawn-in eye sockets and a silent expressionless mouth. No nose left to speak of, just empty areas to hint that one ever existed. All surprisingly pure white, a stark contrast to the blackness of its garb. But that's not the most notable feature.
It's the bugs. Black, squirming, wriggling insects traversing the interior of the sunken eye sockets. In one eye, out the other.
Sometimes out the nose, or what resembled a former nose, I suppose. Even in low lighting, the contrast between the bony white skeletal features and the jet-black maggots is striking. There's a continuous undertone of squishing, sliding sounds as they move in and out he orifices. It's the only sound I hear. What purpose they serve, I don't know. They don't leave the creature. They're always in contact, aside from the crawling, sloshing ones that have now transferred to me and have begun digging their way into my skin.
The creature, right... I wouldn't say it has claws; they're hand-like, white, bony razor-sharp fingers. I found out how sharp when I thought about asking for help. I just needed a few quick clicks, HELP 911 typed out, and a mashing of email contacts to get the word out. But I didn't even have the chance to start.
It knew. Before I could even switch tabs, the two fingers on my left hand were gone. They were on the floor, tumbled away with barely a noise. In one swift motion, those razor bones had sliced them clean off. It hurt less than I would have thought. Although there was a second sound to add to the list, now – the blood pooling and dripping off the desk like a leaky faucet.
It's also slowed my typing down quite a bit. Plus I'm getting a bit dizzy from the bleeding and the insects that continue to burrow through my skin.
Right. More information on the creature. What remains of a human-like ribcage is underneath the black cloak. The cloak itself is rather tattered; I can't begin to imagine where it came from, or how old it might be. The rest of the torso is similar to that of a human as well. The exception is the feet. Similar to the hands, each... toe, I guess, curves upward slightly, and comes downward at the point. Whatever might have been a regular nail is now horrifically sharp. No cloven hooves, though. I guess it's not the literal devil. Good for me.
And hey, look at that – my fingers are back, sort of. There are sharp, matte white bones that have grown where the fingers used to be.
Ok. It's telling me I can be done now. That I can sleep, or transform? I don't completely understand. But I can feel the bugs inside me, crawling through my veins, eyes, muscles... everywhere.
To think, this is all this because of some writer on the internet. If they hadn't been so gifted, this might never have happened. You see, that's how it finds people. It just needs you to see it.
Once you can see it – even in your mind - it can see you. And yes, I mean you.
This was the only way to end the pain. It told me the suffering would end, and I could rest, if I did a good enough job. I've traded an end to my torture for the beginning of yours.
And for that, you have my sincerest apologies.