A Note

I cannot say what exactly it was that made me decide to leave a note before committing my final actions in this world. When I awoke this morning I was perfectly ready for what I was about to do, but, being the type of person I am, I felt as if I owed it to myself to tie up some loose ends beforehand. I had never been the type to leave things unfinished, and I certainly wasn't about to start now. It was with this mindset that I made some breakfast, got dressed, and drove down to my place of work. Surprisingly enough, the day went by normally, and I wonder now if this is because It already knew that I had given up. Of course, the thought never occurred to me at the time, and I simply carried on filing papers and taking calls, doing as much of the week's work as possible before quitting time. I worked through my lunch break, simply handing my credit card to one of my co-workers and telling them to take everyone to Red Lobster for lunch, and to bring me back something, not particularly hungry for anything in specific. At the end of the day I left a letter of my formal resignation, then promptly came home. I've been at my table for a few hours now, quietly pondering my life. Of course, the first things my thoughts drifted toward were my friends and family. I had always kept to myself, so I didn't have many friends, and none of them lived near me. This also lead me to never marrying, and so I had no children. My parents are both deceased as well, and for the first time, as I write this letter, I realize that this leaves me completely alone.

Again I wonder about It, and wonder if this absolute seclusion is part of why It appeared to me.

In any case, it certainly makes things simpler. You see, this has left me with very little to worry about, and even less to worry about now. In a way, it sort of expedites the process. Which is strange in itself, as this should have allowed my to finish up and be on my way without worry of what repercussions it may have. But I cannot. Despite my best efforts I find myself either unwilling or unable to put my pen down, and no matter how hard I try I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I simply must go on. I am compelled to continue the note, for reasons beyond my knowledge.

Before I go on, however, I must apologize. I must apologize for what I have already said. I tried to resist the urges, but I let myself slip. It takes all my willpower to simply continue this train of thought. Before you go on, I beg you, heed this warning:

Turn away.

Now that the formalities are out of the way, I will explain as best I can. When other people do as I am about to, they usually say something about "no one understands me", or "I can't live without him/her". I wish I could say the same. What motivates me is not a case of depression. No, my actions are caused by the simple fear of what horror I will awaken to tonight. I cannot bear the thought of being in the dark one more night. And yet, somehow, I know that being in the light will be so much worse. At first I thought I was simply going insane. It seemed the most likely explanation, and it was far more comforting than having to accept it as truth. But as I sit here, alone at my table, wanting nothing more than to go back to my bedroom and succumb one last time to the temptations of sleep, I cannot deny reality any longer. Let me explain from the beginning, as it seems the most appropriate place, if there is such a thing when dealing with matters such as this.

The first time I encountered It was on my way home from work one night. It had been a normal day, with absolutely nothing out of the ordinary up to that point, and nothing strange afterward. In fact, the entire month had been perfectly normal, with not a single disturbance to think of. Nonetheless, as I drove home I happened to pass a pedestrian, seemingly waiting for a bus. There didn't seem to be anything strange about the person at the time, though as the events I am about to tell you of unfolded I often thought back to them and found several things of note, and I wish dearly that I had noticed them earlier. The first was how the person seemed to stand just outside the light produced be a nearby streetlamp, despite the night being a bit rainy, and the fact that there was a covered bench by the streetlamp. Next, there was the feeling of being watched as I passed them. Thinking back, I remember checking my rear-view mirrors, and, sure enough, the stranger seemed to watch me drive by. The last, and by far the most shocking realization I had was that the person didn't look a human at all. The legs were peculiar in a vague, out-of-place kind of way, the arms seemed both too long and somehow too short at the same time. And the face. By gods, Its face. Though I could make out no details, I can clearly remember that the proportions were completely wrong, and utterly inhuman. Likewise, I cannot compare it to any known animal, as they were so completely foreign to me. I have wondered many times how I ever thought that thing to be a mere pedestrian, innocently waiting for a bus. I have wondered many more times how many others fell to Its guise.

My second encounter with It was a startlingly close one, and I thank whatever god may be out there that it came to the abrupt end that it did. I was again driving home from work when I noticed a person waiting by the side of the road. I slowed down, and the person looked at me, seeming to be lost. Deciding to help the person, I pulled up alongside them. Before I had fully stopped the lost stranger began moving toward the back door of my car. Then something on Its face moved, creeping across the flesh from one side to the other. I had barely registered the sight before I slammed my foot down and rocketed away from the horrible sight. I was breathing hard the entire drive back, and never once shook the sensation that I was being watched. I can only imagine what would have happened if I had let that thing into my car that night.

The third encounter was when things started coming together. Unlike my previous interactions with It, this did not take place on the road, and I did not have the safety of my car. This third encounter took place at my house, half past two in the morning. I awoke in my bed for no readily apparent reason, and noticed my relatively heavy breathing, as if the air was choked with some insidious gas intent on clogging my lungs with its poisonous touch. As I laid in my bed, trying to get my breathing to normal I became aware of the feeling that I was being watched. I shifted my eyes across the room as I was filled with paranoia. Seeing nothing, I began to relax -- until my eyes fell upon the window. Outside my window there was a shape that at first seemed human, until I focused my eyes. It was the thing at the roadside. The inhuman face, arms that were too long, yet too short at the same time. Though I could not see its legs, I suspect that they were very peculiar, in a way one can't quite describe. I hadn't noticed it until now, but I saw now that It was very tall, towering over me as it seemed to stare through my window-shades directly at me. I cannot say how long It stayed there, watching me as I stared back with fear-filled eyes. All I know is that when morning broke, it was gone, and everything seemed like a bad dream.

The next few nights continued like this, me waking up and finding It staring at me through the shades on my window, only for me to drift off each night to find it gone in the morning, each time feeling less and less like a nightmare afterward. The fourth night this happened I had a terrible realization: It was now much closer than it had been on the first night, nearly pressing against the glass of my window. I hadn't realized it before, but It had gradually been drifting closer to me each night that had passed. I began to drape blankets over my window after that. I don't think It liked that. The next day I worked late, as I had some extra work I needed to take care of. My boss trusted me enough to lock the place up myself, as I had been working for him for nearly seventeen years, which is something of a sad statement now that I think about it. Once I had finally finished up with my work, I began to head out. Halfway to the elevator I looked out one of the windows to check the parking lot. I stopped dead when I saw something by my car. It was waiting for me. I slept under my desk that night, desperately trying to will myself into believing that It wasn't real, just a part of my imagination. I almost succeeded. Until the next night.

The next night was only a taste of the horror that would soon flood into my mind, far beyond anything that I had experienced before. I again awoke in my bed, breathing heavily, and instinctively looked toward my window. The heavy blankets were in place, and I could make out no figures behind it. Yet the burning sensation of being watched persisted, and I nearly threw myself out of bed before I froze, eyes locked on my door. The door was open, despite me shutting it before going to bed. I strained my eyes, searching for movement in the hallway. But It was not moving. I could see It, simply standing in the hall outside my door, watching me as the flesh upon Its face crawled from one side to the other, never ceasing in its horrible dance, first crawling, then stretching, receding, and crawling again. I tried to shout at it, tell it to go away. I tried to move my body, but terror had grasped me firmly, and would not relent its hold. As I struggled to act It simply stared at me, and by God if it didn't seem as if It was smiling at the sight, at my fear. I do not know how long we stared at each other, nor do I know precisely when it finally left me that night. What I do remember is that when morning broke I was in hysterics. I have been told that I babbled madly to myself throughout the day, occasionally interrupting the babbling with loud shrieks at my co-workers which then lead to me crawling beneath my desk to continue my insane ramblings. Personally, I have no recollection of this, nor of the following trip to the police station after one of my co-workers dialed 911. When I came to, I was sitting in a room, alone, and restrained tightly so that I would not attempt to remove myself from the chair I occupied. After a long string of questions and half-truth answers later, I found myself in a situation much like I am now; sitting alone at my table and thinking, though at that time I also had some freshly prescribed medication at my side.

Or was I alone? No, I don't think I was. I remember it now, I was facing my door, trying to think. And then I felt It behind me. I could feel It smiling with that featureless slate of dancing flesh where its face should be, I could hear the noiseless laughter as It watched me vainly try to remember what had happened that night. It laughed and laughed and laughed at me, never ceasing in its silent mockery of my pain. Finally, when I could bear it no longer, I whipped myself around and shouted, throwing my pills in the direction I thought was appropriate. But It was not there. I don't even know if It ever was there. I can't be sure of much of anything anymore. But I am sure of what happened the next time I saw It. I don't know when it was, but I know that I can't bear the thought of what might come next.

I don't know if this was the next meeting, or if It had been there before the excruciating experience. It could have happened that night, or two weeks later. I can't remember anymore. But the date isn't important, no, it is only the events of that horrible night that matter. As usual, it was late when I woke up with the heavy breathing that was starting to become the norm, rather than the exception. I tried to keep my eyes shut. For a while I did. And then I heard the shuffling, the creaking of my door, and my eyes snapped open instantly. It was standing there, far past my door, right beside my bed. Still smiling. Always smiling. Never a mouth, but always smiling. We stared at each other for a good long while, neither of us moving even an inch. And then I blinked, and everything was black again. This is where I truly lost track of time, I'm afraid. I have no idea how many days went by, how many times I woke to that thing in my room, always by my bed. It could have been just once more, or it could have been twenty nights in a row. Everything was a blur, I could no longer remember even waking up in the mornings, much less going to bed. The last point of clarity I had was last night, this I am sure of. And this is what has lead me to my current path. I wish I could not tell you. But I must. It insists that I tell you.

It wants you to know.

It was later than usual when I woke up, and this time I couldn't open my eyes, forcing me to expend copious amounts of energy peeling my eyelids away from each other. And there It was, right by my bed. Except--No, not by my bed. On my bed, smiling its mouthless smile as the skin on Its face creeped up, then over, then up, back the other way, down, over, refusing to stop, to even rest for but a moment. And then It leaned down, and stared into my eyes, yet with none of its own. As we stared at each other, It suddenly leaned closer and whispered into my ear. What It said shook my very being, rewriting the very fabric of my mind, then breaking it apart in one vicious motion. I cannot repeat what It said. I will not repeat what It said.

But It wants you to know. It wants you to know so very, very dearly. And It will tell you, when you are ready.

I said I didn't know what compelled me to write this letter. But I do now. I suspect I always knew. It just didn't want you to know too soon, I suppose. If anyone reads this, please, burn it when you're done and follow my lead.

I'm so sorry.