6th September 2010
A trickling cold seeps into my bones as soon as I turn off the light, in a manner I can only relate to the fingers of death dragging me to hell. It oozes through my limbs, crawling up my neck. I can hear the rustling echoes of footsteps, whispers in the night. The darkness, the entity I loved, is trying to warn me. Trying to scare me. It succeeds. Immediately once light has left the room that same deathly feeling saturates the room. As I stand by the switch, paralysed, rooted to the spot, I can feel Death behind me, breathing heavily down my neck, freezing the droplets of sweat breaking out. His gruesome pants crawl across my cheek, his icy fingers weaving themselves through my hair, quenching the flames, quenching the fire of my soul. He sucks the life out of me, bit by bit. If I don't move none of my soul will be left.
My eyes strain, but I cannot see. I swear there are shadows, silhouettes, figures lurking in the periphery. They always manage to stay just in the corner of my eye, stealthy, silent, secret, lethal. It is the darkness, I tell you, the darkness teasing me with its power. It could do anything to me, and I can't do anything to protect myself. All the walls I ever put up were created by the darkness; the darkness is the source of my confidence. Now it has turned on me it has taken away any form of strength, and I am vulnerable.
I must have done something catastrophic that angered it, because it is seeking revenge mercilessly. In the dark, at night, I do not know where the walls are, what is on the other side of the room and what is right under my nose. Making my way to my bed is like walking through a field of mines with a blindfold on. The atmosphere is charged with tension, mystery and danger. Everything has changed, Carl, and I don't know what to do.