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Will you tell me what happened?
I cut myself while shaving.
Oh, how would my father have laughed were he there to see me? He did laugh a lot when he taught me.
He tried to keep a straight face when he taught me, but I was so clumsy. My hands were always slipping, and in the end I replaced the soft hairs that made my excuse for a beard at the time for a thousand small pieces of toilet paper. The aftershave didn’t help either, I must say, and he couldn’t help it anymore and ended up crying from the laughter.
It was sweet of him to teach me how to be a man, though. These images of my father seemed to be coming to my mind often those days; too often, I mean.
I found myself living mentally, these heartwarming memories whilst trying to wash the ugly gash that the razor had left in my already ugly face. 'How did I cut myself this deep?' I thought, staring at the mirror, showing my skin open from the corner of my jaw below the ear to almost the chin. And there was so much blood on my hands and on my chest. I couldn’t stop it from flowing. I would have to use the roll of toilet paper, the whole thing.
I reached for the cut once again with water in my right hand cupped. The mirror I could see my fingers—a miscalculation I thought at first—digging into the wound. It was so painful that I let a little scream out. I quickly removed my hand but the mirror showed me that the fingers were still there. I removed it again unable to believe what I was seeing but instead, the reflection showed me the fingers going deeper and deeper into the wound, like moles opening their way under the surface… they continued to go on, each finger carving a tunnel under my skin. The gash got bigger as my right hand entered the wound, deeper and deeper, digging towards the eye.
I felt shivers down my spine and couldn’t move as my index and middle finger appeared suddenly in my eye, like the legs of a funnel-web spider that wakes up from its daily slumber and creeps out of its silky liar.
And all of a sudden, all of the right side of my face was exposed… deprived from the shell that is the skin as this had been torn apart and dripped blood while dangling, firmly pressed inside my fist.
And from the eye without lid, I saw myself screaming desperately in the mirror as my wife came running into the bathroom. She found me screaming on the floor, whole.
“Oh my god!” she said, and added, “you’re such a crying baby.”
That damned woman… She couldn’t get how I could cry so much over a shaving cut but… if only… if only she had seen what I saw… She would definitely understand… I’m sure.
I saw myself once again in the mirror and there was nothing out of the ordinary, just an ugly cut in my ugly face.
I didn’t want to tell my wife what I had seen, she wouldn’t believe me anyway. After all—I remember—it must have been my imagination. I had recently read some Facebook experts say that too many hours of work and little rest can make you see things after a while.
“I need vacations,” I said to her as I dressed. She didn’t answer; she hated me as much as I hated her.
I avoided mirrors all day, but everything is so shimmering and reflective in this frail world of glass. Even my computer screen reflected my face when I was immersed in the calculations and formulas that were my contribution to society at the time, and my living.
I went home that day and fell asleep watching TV, my wife was nowhere to be found when I woke up two hours later at three o’clock… I didn’t really care. Actually, sleep came so easily that I don’t recall getting into bed or taking my clothes off.
And there he was… my father sitting in front of me; once again I was dreaming about him. This was the fourth, maybe the fifth dream I had about him… I’m not sure. This time, he was teaching me something...
Yeah, he loved numbers and I couldn’t add two plus two no matter how hard I tried. He was patient, though; and helped me count my own fingers. He was a good teacher, I realize now, as numbers became my breadwinning tool later in life.
I remember in that dream how his eyes, stern yet fair judged my lack of understanding with their black-void like color. The sound of laughing children came to me like music from the outside, all my friends were playing while I was there, counting. A vermilion stream of light crossed through a gap between the curtains and told me that the evening was ending. I sighed… I had lost the entire day.
“Everything is related to numbers…” My father said to me “All the things visible or invisible; future, present or past; dead or alive… everything.”
I must have been five or six years old, and not a very bright kid, so I wasn’t able to grasp the meaning of his words. Also, my focus was on the fading light and children's laughter outside. I could hear a ball, they were playing football.
The light went suddenly away and the day was over.
His eyes were ink stains, that seemed to exhale a black vapor through his lashes, got closer to mine, and stopped right there in front of me and said:
“The numbers Vincent, you know them…” and the thickest darkness that ever was, descended upon us, as, with a final aspiration, two more words came slithering out from his rotten lips and viper-like fangs… “Name them.”
The day started late for me, it was a Saturday and I had slept through to lunchtime. My wife kept talking about how good the night had been with her colleagues from the school. At this point I kept asking myself why she even bothered on telling me those things, she knew I couldn’t care less about it… probably she just wanted to upset me or maybe she was actually trying to make a conversation… But as I said before, I couldn’t care less.
Instead, I couldn’t avoid but to keep looking at the picture on the wall.
“What are you looking at?” she said suddenly, her voice revealed that she was a tiny bit annoyed with my attitude that day. Once I noticed her annoyance, I just kept looking.
It was a portrait of my parents and sisters they had sent us for Christmas the year before he died. It had always been there but it caught my attention deeply.
When I came back to earth, I was sitting alone and my wife was watching TV, tired of trying to draw my attention.
My phone rang, the screen read a number that I didn’t know. I answered and a voice spoke rapidly and in a frightened tone.
“Your name is Vincent right?” he said.
“Who is this?”
“There’s no time, it is already happening!” he interrupted me.
“What’s happening? What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“Meet me tonight, at ten… next to the fountain of Calthbury square.”
“Wait…” the call had ended so there was nothing I could do.
The rest of the day was completely normal, apart from my thoughts drifting towards my father over and over again, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
The rain was falling heavily and it was really hard to see through my windshield, even with the wiper washers activated at maximum setting.
I got off the car and walked to the square, shivering. I didn’t know what was going on and a certain part of me, probably the sane one, kept asking why I was attending to this mysterious meeting with a stranger.
I got there at ten, and there he was. This man of about thirty-five years, thin, and balding with a handlebar mustache and glassless glasses… Damn hipsters I remember thinking.
“I’m Oswald,” he said with the same voice from the telephone. “I called you today because I needed to find you; we need to find the last piece…”
Wait what? The last piece? Of what? I thought “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said.
“It is starting… have you seen it?” he said looking to a point behind me.
I turned; the rain kept falling preventing anybody to come closer to us. The lights went off and in the emptiness of the dark around us, I could feel a presence.
“It’s here!” murmured Oswald grabbing my arm.
“Who? Who is here?” I asked.
“Not who… what…” he murmured as he pointed with his chin to someplace in the dark. In the blinding obscurity that was wrapping us then, I could feel it… there was something lurking there. Three black holes, like a rupture in the fabric of space, blacker than the black of the unlighted nighttime square, invisible yet remarkable, were staring.
A lightning bolt broke the dark and suddenly there was nothing there when the lights came back.
Oswald sat on the edge of the fountain, he was trembling.
“What was that?” I managed to say after the roaring thunder took me out of my trance.
“Did you see it?”
“Time stopped. It’s getting more and more powerful…” he said, his handlebar mustache was dripping, and his almost-completely-gone hair was soaking wet.
“Let’s go to my car,” I said, “out of the rain”.
I lit up a cigarette as he rolled down his window. We smoked in the parked car, next to the square.
“The darkness is trespassing. There are eight portals and I have found six.” He spoke before I could ask a single question. “You’re the seventh.”
“Portals? What the hell are you talking about?” for a moment out there my mind was ready to believe anything but the short walk to the car and the cigarette had helped to cool down my mind. “What is going on?”
“You saw it… in the dark.”
“Well…” I wasn’t sure about what I had seen after all “I thought I had seen something looking at us. But then it could be just my imagination.”
“Those were its eyes, don’t tell me you haven’t seen them before.”
That may have made a click at the moment but I couldn’t remember.
“No, not at all…”
“Liar!” he spat in a sudden burst of anger “I have found six of the eight portals… with me, there are seven. Now we must gather and search for the eighth and kill him, or her.”
“Wait, what?” I almost choked on the smoke when I heard the word Kill “This must be a prank, you are joking me right?”
“No! Listen we must destroy the eighth portal, if not, the darkness will trespass… and…”
“And…” he stopped.
“You haven’t come up with something else to add to your story?”
“Listen, we must do this, if not the consequences will be terrible… if we don’t kill the eighth portal all the rest will pay a terrible price. Get it?”
“No, I don’t,” I said as I threw away the rest of the cigarette out of the window and started the car. “This was a terrible waste of time… now, get off the car,” I heard myself saying.
“But you must listen to me!”
“Get off the car,” I repeated.
“Vincent, you don’t understand…”
“GET. OFF. THE. CAR!” I gave him a stare full of hatred, and I guess he saw something in my eyes for the fear I could read in his.
When I arrived back home, the things that he said to me kept rolling in my mind. I remembered the dream about my father, but I couldn’t remember exactly what was it about, not then.
Some friends called to go drinking or something; I was definitely not in the mood although my wife wanted to go. I stayed at home again, alone.
My boss called me and said he needed me at first light the next day, on a Sunday… it didn’t matter, it wasn’t the first time. As soon as I hung up, I fell asleep on the couch, the radio blasting a song by some dark sounding metal band.
And I was a child again.
My father took me by the hand to the river where he used to tell me stories about his own childhood. That part of the countryside was covered by thick layers of vegetation and away from the sun by the treetops and other types of vegetation, green shadows danced at the rhythm of the ripples on the slow flowing waters. And blackened rocks stood silent emerging from the waters like the fingertips of a drowned giant.
“Once, when I was your age…” he started while pointing at the tallest rock that emerged from the river “I climbed that rock, and from there I jumped to the water.”
I know it doesn’t sound like much now but I remember that in the dream I was utterly impressed.
“I bet you could do it too…”
I don’t know or remember how I got there, I wasn’t wet even though the only way to get to the rock was by swimming. And there I was, climbing halfway to the top.
I was about to reach it when a piece of stone gave away and I saw myself hanging. When I turned to look down I couldn’t see the bottom, I was so high that clouds coiled below my feet.
“Take my hand!” said my father; he was there at the top trying to reach for me. “You can do it! Take my hand!”
“I can’t!” I yelled back “I can’t, I’m going to fall!”
“Come on! You can do it! Say the numbers and you’ll save yourself!” he said, his eyes spilling blackness all over.
“Th… the numbers?” I said confused, as a combination of ones and zeroes started coming to my mind.
“Yes! The numbers, you have to say them to…!” and I couldn’t hear anymore as a strong gust of wind blew me off the rock with such strength that I couldn’t resist it.
I woke up and Oswald was there, in front of me.
“You almost gave it what it wants,” he said.
“I’m so cold…” I said and then I realized he was inside my house “What are you doing here? How did you enter here?”
“I had to come for you because you didn’t want to listen, sorry about the window by the way,” he said, pointing to a broken window in the living room behind the TV; then he looked around. “Listen to me, you must not trust your dreams, did you hear me?”
“How… how do you know about my dreams?”
“It doesn’t matter right now. We have to hurry, if we don’t do it before it manifests itself all will be lost.”
“Ok, listen…mhm,” he said looking around and then added “Who was it? In your dream, who is this person you’ve been seeing every time you dream?”
“My dad,” I said
“Do you remember how he looked like in the dream?”
“Just as usual…”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“yes, mh… there, on the wall,” I said pointing to the picture I was looking at during lunch. He went there and brought it.
“How did your father look in your dream?” he asked without showing me the picture “His eyes?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary I guess, they were black, and… and… wait…” my father’s eyes weren’t black I realized.
“Look,” he said turning the photo for me to see it.
“My father had blue eyes, deep blue eyes… not black.” I looked at him utterly surprised “But it was him! I know it!”
“The darkness in the other side has taken the images of our beloved ones; there is no way to differentiate them from the people that it is imitating. Not during the dreams that is.”
“What is this darkness that you speak of?”
“I call it darkness because I have no idea how else to call it…now let’s go, we don’t have much time,” he said putting the picture aside. “I don’t know what it really is, but it’s trying to come to our world through the portals…”
“How do you know this?”
“That’s a long story…”
“I have the time. Tell me.”
“No, we don’t have time… trust me.”
“Why should I? I barely know you and you told me we have to kill somebody… and now you break into my house and ask me to trust you?”
Oswald looked back through his glassless glasses to the now-glassless-window with a shiver and I guess he finally gave up as he started.
“I know about this since I was like, uhm… twelve or eleven. My nanny, she used to work for my family and lived there in my house. She raised me actually.
Sometimes during full moon nights, she escaped to a nearby forest. I saw her many times until I finally decided to follow her. The path was difficult, full of roots and branches. But she crossed like if she didn’t have a body. She just floated through the gnarled wooden hands that stretched to catch her.
She finished her nighttime run in a clearing where the moonlight descended silvery on an old monolith that had stood there for God knows how long. I could see clearly seven more figures surrounding the stone. And as soon as she got there, they all started to dance and chant in weird wailing voices. And after a while, there was another sound, and I realized that the stone was trembling.
For as long as half of the night they danced, and for as long as half of the night, the stone moved, softly… until it turned black. And I realized that it wasn’t a rock anymore, it was a hole; a black hole as nothing that I had seen before because it was not something… somehow, I realized that it was the absence of everything.
From this new space-like shape that was the rock; many shadows appeared and moved with the dancers… I couldn’t understand clearly what was going on then, but now I realize that the shadows were making some sort of orgy with the dancers. And they moved and moaned and floated in the air as they mated with these creatures from the void.
When it was over, the dancers fell to the ground, completely passed out. The rock was a rock once more and the shadows disappeared.
I went home and got lost. The day was young and my family was preparing for breakfast when I finally got there. My nanny noticed me when I came late and looked queerly at me. She spoke to me after breakfast, she knew that I had followed her. I don’t remember her exact words but it was something about never doing it anymore.
A few years later I visited the place again and found the rock, strange carvings adorned the monolith and I drew them and dedicated myself to look for them, with time I even travelled out of the country to far places and, to make it short I found them, in the library of Akhtga in the far lands of Tironmen… Don’t worry if you don’t know the place… neither did I ‘til I got there.
More than three thousand years ago there was a cult, the cult of Yee-atng according to the translation that I found, it was something like the cult of the un-light (that’s why I call this thing the darkness). The material I found said that to open a portal eight cultists should perform their dance and their chants in front of one of the eight stone-portals that were there around the world. If the dancers were strong enough they would resist the beings from the other place and would allow them to cross over to this place.”
He finished his story there and I didn’t know what to say. Until I realized about something and a sudden doubt crossed through my mind.
“But, I don’t get it, you said there were stone portals around the world, then, what does that have to do with me, or you or the other six?”
The look he gave me told me that he was terrorized to explain that part.
“We should get going,” he said, but there was something else and I needed to know.
“Tell me the whole story!” I said.
After a few hesitations he knew I wouldn’t give in, so he proceeded to tell me the rest.
“I made a mistake; the darkness wasn’t able to cross through the gates as the cultists were not so strong as they were needed. And after long years, afraid that one day some human could be strong enough, I went back to my hometown and destroyed the rock.”
Oswald gave a long stare to the broken window, a little wind had entered and the curtains started levitating ghostly while hanging from the wooden bar. Music continued to sound in the background with some other metal act and a scary song in God knows what language.
“When the rock was shattered, I was transported to… somewhere. I wouldn’t be able to describe it. Things didn’t make sense in that godforsaken land. And somehow, I don’t know how I realized that but there was no doubt about it, I had become a portal, myself. And the power of the portals was taken from the other stones and given to other seven people apart from me. I had to find them to end my mission.”
So, I remember thinking “Is he actually admitting that he had put me into all this trouble? If his story is true, I was safe until this moron destroyed one of the portals?” The purest feeling of anger broke me. I remember yelling at him.
“So why didn’t you mind your own freaking business? Damn you! Maybe I should kill you and all this nightmare would end!” I said as I stood up and hit him in the face, his glassless glasses flew away.
I fell on top of him and continued hitting him, he only tried to defend himself.
“Please, stop!” he said in between punches “you don’t get it!”
“What is there to get? That you never thought about the consequences of your own stupid acts?” I yelled as I gave him one last blow to the nose that made him bleed profusely. Then I realized I was going nuts.
I sat back staring at my blood-stained hands. I couldn’t believe what I had done.
Oswald was grabbing his nose while mumbling something. He didn’t try to hit me back, though.
“You’re more affected than the rest,” he said, “come, you’ll see this will be over soon.” He reached for his glassless glasses, but the frame was broken and as he didn’t really need them he just threw them away with a sigh.
The sight of blood on my hands reminded me of the cut I gave myself shaving the day before… and the memory of the following vision obliged me to finally believe. I followed him.
He went out through the broken window; I let him even though I had opened the door.
Outside, there were five people and they were all startled at the sight of Oswald, all bloody and hurt.
“What happened in there?” asked a woman wearing an oversized blue anorak. “What took you so long, we are already late!”
“Where are your glasses?” added a man with a beard as long as the woman’s hair.
“Doesn’t matter really, does it?” answered Oswald.
I got in my car and the woman with the blue anorak came with me, the rest went with Oswald in a red pickup truck that looked really old judging by the amount of rust on it.
“We’re running out of time,” she said as soon as I turned the key. The amount of times I heard something similar was high enough to make me believe that too.
The red disgrace that was Oswald’s pickup, roared and coughed and started through the road.
“Where are we going?” I asked when we left the main road to enter a rural area.
“To the summoning place…” she said looking at me; I could feel her bronze colored eyes penetrating my skin, “the eighth must be… finished there.”
Shivers crawled down my spine thinking about finishing somebody, but my mind was too immersed in the image of my own face being peeled away to go back.
“I thought that first we were supposed to find him,” I said without taking my eyes from the red lights that told me where the truck was, the rain was pouring down heavily.
“We’re going to, tonight,” she said.
After an hour of driving through a serpentine and muddy road, we came to a halt. I saw the others get off the truck and before I knew the woman in blue was out in the rain with them. I joined the group.
A brief walk through the woods and we found an ancient looking cottage, the lights were on and by the amount of light coming out of the windows, I realize it was candlelight. Oswald knocked in a weird pattern and the door was open.
A mute, tall and scrawny man was there, expecting us.
“This is him?” I murmured to the woman in blue.
“No, he’s just the keeper. She’ll be at the back.”
We entered and the keeper left.
As we approached the back room I noticed that the lights were dimmer than at the entrance until there was only the shy clarity of a single candle in the middle of the room.
And there was nobody in there.
I looked around and counted seven of us coming into the room. Oswald, the woman in blue, the man with the beard, a teenage girl, a black man whom always looked surprised (although he probably was… I don’t really know) a red-haired man about as old as Oswald and me.
“I don’t get it...” I said to the woman in blue “You said she was here.”
“She is,” said the woman, while putting her anorak aside and revealing a huge pregnancy belly.
I… I turned around trying to understand but the only answer I found was the vision of the rest joining their hands in a circle. When I turned back again to the woman, she was extending her left hand to me.
“Are you fucking crazy?!” I screamed at them “You can’t do that!”
“We must,” Oswald said.
“Why? Because you once tried to be a hero and screwed us all instead?” I looked around; the others were staring at me, expressionless. “Maybe we should kill you instead,” I said to Oswald.
“That’s not how it works,” he said.
“I don’t care how it works! I…”
“This is the only way!” the woman said.
“We must be here, all together we have to invoke the Darkness,” the black man said.
“I don’t get it, we were supposed to destroy it, not invoke it!” I screamed at them
“How will we destroy something that is not here?” Oswald said calmly.
“But what makes you think your plan will work?”
“It will,” he answered.
“No,” I replied immediately. “I will not take part in this horror show!” I turned away and left… and I really wanted to go, you must believe me… I really wanted to go… but I couldn’t get too far.
When I felt the blow in the back of my head, there was nothing I could do but to fall as the world slowly turned black.
I don’t know for how long I was in that state, but I dreamt. And the dreams were woven in strange shapes that seemed to roll around me.
I don’t recall all of them but there was my father, with his blue eyes looking the same way they had looked the day of his death. All pale and thin, and completely bald, the hospital gown made him look even thinner than he was. And he was worried, and suddenly he fell to the ground hitting hard his knees on the dirt floor he was standing on. One hand extended towards me, and his mouth gaping whilst maggots started crawling out from his throat as he said, “Please Vincent! Say the numbers!”
I turned around terrified and my image stared back at me, and my hands in the mirror image pried open the cut on my jaw. And I was screaming, but the image kept pulling the skin off my face. My flesh was black, blacker than the blackest black. And Oswald’s voice suddenly came to me in a bubble that popped right on my cheek.
And slowly I landed on my body once more.
“My father,” I mumbled, I was awake once more, and drowning in my on tears, feeling nothing but despair. “I saw him, he’s suffering!”
“The darkness has got him as a hostage. But it can’t use it to trick you anymore; you know it’s been using his image. So now it’s trying to torture him for you to cooperate with it,” Oswald said.
“What should I do?” I said sitting down, although I already knew the answer. I hold my head; it was pounding.
“Help us,” he said, and pointed to the pregnant woman. The black man was helping her deliver the child.
“I can’t do that!” I said crying.
“You must,” he said.
The woman screamed and I could see there was blood coming from between her legs as the black man pulled the child out. It was a girl.
“Now it’s time,” proclaimed Oswald. “The eighth has finally arrived.”
The woman was breathing heavily, and the teenage girl was looking at her in awe when suddenly a terrible scream came out of her. But it came from far, I knew it immediately. It couldn’t have been produced by such a tiny creature.
The man with the beard and the black man helped the woman to stand up, and they put the baby in front of me on a table, they… they didn’t even cut the cord…
Oswald turned to me and said “You’ll see, Vincent; each one of us has a purpose. The first must find the rest… that’s me. The second and third must conceive the eighth, those are Ruben and Laura” he pointed at the woman and the man with the beard. “The fourth must help the rest to communicate with the Darkness. That’s Mary,” he said looking at the teenage girl. “The fifth must help bring the eighth to the world. That is Homer.” He gave a nod to the black man. “The sixth must open the portals by saying the appropriate words. That’s Sean,” he said pointing to the red-haired man. “And you, Vincent… you must call it… It will incarnate using the child’s body. And that’s when we end it.”
I looked at the baby lying there on the table and thought of the image of my father being tortured by… something. I thought about all the lives that should be lost if I didn’t accomplish my mission. And somehow, I finally fully believed him… I realized Oswald was right in everything he was saying.
I… I agreed on continuing with the invocation…
We all stood around the table. We were naked… the woman had blood drying between her thighs and I couldn’t imagine how could she be standing right after giving birth.
The creature cried in front of us and nobody seemed to care, not even her own mother.
Sean started saying some words that could only be translated to letters without meaning. They were guttural sounds in a rhythm that was hard to follow- something like:
Yaaakhth – Maschnak
The candlelight grew darker and darker until the flame burned black, the teenage girl screamed something in a harsh voice. Somehow, I knew this meant the invocation had worked out.
The portals, us, were ready to receive the Darkness.
Oswald pointed at me, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do until the girl screamed at me and the numbers came flowing out of my mouth,
When the last one came out of my mouth, the darkness that reigned in the room was suddenly overwhelmed by a presence that came from all of us, the absolute absence of everything that is was pouring down from us and creeping towards the baby in the middle.
I looked around and could see it, Oswald was laughing.
He wasn’t going to stop it! I knew it right then when I realized his eyes burned black like the eyes of my father in the dreams. He had tricked me into thinking he was going to destroy it but he wasn’t, and neither the rest. I tried to scream but the darkness kept crawling out of me through my mouth. I needed to get it out of me! It hurt so much! And… and… I could feel it crawling under my skin too.
The darkness wanted to get away and the teenage girl started peeling her skin off, and her muscles were black and Oswald was doing it too while all of them vomited this black non-existent matter and I remembered my face deprived of skin on the mirror. I needed to get rid of my skin, how it hurt! but I wouldn’t do it! But oh, how it hurt!
“Come on! You have to…” Oswald’s voice went lower and lower “There is no other way,” and laughed.
The darkness was using our bodies as portals and our skin was the last barrier between its dimension and ours. And suddenly I also realized that it was just one entity, with eight parts like tentacles that would unite into the newborn.
I had to stop it, if they weren’t going to, I would. And whilst all of them were on the ground skinning themselves alive, I dragged myself towards the newborn. When… when I got there… she, she was so innocent… allow me to cry when I remember this… I took her into my arms, and thought that maybe… I could save her! If I could run away from there I could have saved her! My wife and I, we weren’t able… but this could be it… maybe our problems would be solved if I came home with her… and the girl, she would forgive me if I raised her… I thought… I thought…
But when she looked at me… I saw those black eyes staring back at me!… dripping that blackness down her cheeks, still wet with placenta and blood.
And I knew I couldn’t save her… so… so, I looked around, the rest were already dead and there was nothing I could use. I cried as much as I cry now when… when I took her umbilical cord… and… and strangled her with it…
Next thing I remember was when I woke up; the bodies were all around me… they were all dead. Skinned most of them… and the baby was there pressed in my arms… all blue, and with her bronze colored eyes stuck to mine… that’s how they found me detective… and that’s all the truth I know… Now please don’t make me remember the details once more. I don’t dream about the darkness any longer, I promise… I guess I finally defeated it… see? I defeated it!
But please, you have to take me out of here, please, the medicines… please, the medicines, they put me to sleep! I don’t want to sleep anymore! I lied, ok? I do dream, I don’t want to dream any longer… That’s why I tore off my eyelids!! See? I don’t want to dream… I don’t want to be in the dark… the darkness… it still comes after me… please, don’t… leave me… alone in the dark.