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This is not a website of facts, this is a site for the dreamers, albeit nightmares as they may be. This is for the people who choose to dream impossible things, terrible things. For those that know there is something bigger and far more terrifying than themselves in this world, and who seek it with impudence. This is a story for you.
For the sake of anonymity, the names and likenesses of the people in the story have been changed, for reasons you shall soon know yourself. Those of you who know me personally may soon know who I am speaking of, but keep reading, because the details of the situation are not known to you yet. Others may see this as just another story, like the many on this site, but I assure you it is not. This is my own retelling of the events that have taken place in my life over the past few years, as I recall them, and would argue their facts with anyone who would be apt to do so.
For those who see this and decide it's not worth reading, I leave you with this advice. Release the hate from your heart. Hate will destroy you, it will eat you alive, leaving but a husk of who you were, to drift though this would, while it terrorizes everything you love. Let it go, or face the consequences, as I have.
This tale begins a long time ago, as most do. The way I grew up was different than most. I was never truly able to make connections with people my age. I just don’t have what most would call a conscience. I’ve felt regret for things that I’ve done, but never truly felt sorry. I have feigned sympathy for those who hurt, but I never truly felt their pain. I won’t pretend that no one knows what I speak of, many probably do, but you were not there as I grew up so I felt quite alone. In my time spent alone I learned a few things.
I learned that I didn’t need other people. At least not the way many people do. I enjoy company as much as the next person, especially now that I no longer try to convince myself that I’m special, that I’m different from everyone else. I know that I am not, most just won't show this side of themselves, preferring to be socially acceptable instead. Even though I enjoy company, I have always had this feeling of relief when I am alone again, as though something they were doing was wrong, or just didn’t fit with who I was, until I met her.
For anonymity's sake, I’ll call her Debra. I met her at a fast food restaurant where we worked together. As I’ve said, I’ve never been good at making connections so for awhile I said nothing. We worked in close quarters occasionally and always had fun when we did, I’m not completely devoid of social queues, just indifferent to them. After some time I saw that she was growing closer to me, and an excitement that I’d never felt started. She was getting close to ME, not some mask I had donned to seduce her. I was actually showing who I was, sarcastic, sadistic, and more than a little pessimistic, but still she seemed to thrive on it. She loved to hear the way I viewed the world, as though it was some novelty for being so different than her own. I reveled in this, never before being able to show who or what I was to someone, always hiding behind what was socially acceptable.
She was new, and it was fantastic. We talked like this for months before finally something happened, and there we were, together and happy with nothing but brightness in my future. I’m not sure if you’ve grasped just how different I thought she was from me. As it turned out she just had a fantastic mask. After a year of being together, right before she graduated and moved in with me, (by the way, I was 19 and she was 18, so no worries there) I found out something terrible. I don’t like to go into detail, but some is required. She was tormented by her father. He did things that, in my opinion, deserve on the most excruciating form of death. He now rots in prison because of this, and that’s when everything changed, that’s when the mask came off, and that my friends is where the real story begins.
It was a subtle change, little things at first. She quit her job where we worked together and started working at another store, like she didn’t enjoy being around me anymore. Not a big deal, we were living together so I thought nothing of it. She had her shift switched to closing, again not a big deal, although I worked mornings so it meant less time we were together, but whatever made her happy. Then the things that made me suspicious. The closing became longer and longer. It started with her getting home at around midnight, but soon became 3 AM to 4 AM. As I started questioning her about it, she became irate, telling me I smothered her too much. All I had been doing was giving her space since finding out about her father, so that obviously wasn’t true. Until then I hadn’t been who I truly was towards her.
I trusted her, I believed in her, so I didn’t think anything bad. I should have. One night she came home later than she ever had, around 5:30 AM, and tried telling me that work ran late. I had already gone to her work at about midnight and no one was there. She was lying to me. I let her think I believed her, then when she went to sleep I went through her phone. Most of you may think this was a sneaky thing to do, and admittedly it was, but I'll remind you my lack of a conscience. I didn’t care, I had to know. And my worst fear was proven, she had been cheating on me with a guy from her new job, henceforth referred to as Ben. Not only that, but she had sat beside me, at our house, and texted him about how much she enjoyed it, and how I didn’t suspect a thing. That alone planted the seed, and from it grew many things, but most of all, hate.
I began to question everything she did, breaking apart every lie with logic. She hated this, hated my logical way of thinking and how she couldn’t circumvent it. She began to pull away and it wasn’t long after that she ended our relationship to begin one with Ben. At first I was ok with this, I mean she cheated on me, lied to me, and then came home to sleep in my bed. But soon I realized that I still cared for her a great deal, and things with her new guy weren’t working out. One night she called me, crying, saying that she couldn’t take him anymore, he was abusive, physically and verbally. I thought that it was mainly due to her father, and for one of the first times in my life, felt sympathy.
I wanted to make her happy again, and I still cared for her a great deal, we had been together for two years, which at the age of 20, seemed like much longer than it does now. So I took her back. She moved back in and things went back to the way they were at the beginning, at least on the surface. She was still distant, and I was still hurt. We never really dealt with what happened, preferring to simply ignore it and move on. Things didn’t get better, this story wouldn’t be on this site if they had.
She eventually lapsed back into sneaking around, lying, all the things she had done before so immediately red lights went off. I knew what she was doing, but I’m the type of person that requires proof when accused of something, so I wasn’t going to go to her with nothing. I waited for my chance, one thing I’m quite good at, that I learned from all the times spent alone. Everyone makes mistakes, and if you're quiet and unobserved, you will catch them, and I always did. Needless to say I caught her, she had been going back to Ben, though as to why I’ll never know. We split up again, and again she moved out. The second time wasn’t nearly as bad, she had hurt me too much for me to care anymore, but part of me still missed her, and I felt I always would. A few months passed, nothing really of any consequence, just living life as I knew it so well, alone. Until the day she showed up on my doorstep.
She was pregnant, and didn’t know how to tell Ben. My first thought was that it was mine, but seeing as how she had been gone for months and had just now realized she was pregnant, that thought was quickly dissolved. She told me how much of a mistake she realized she made. How leaving me and going to him was the worst thing she could have done. She appealed to my human side, and despite my better judgment, I let it get to me. This was the girl I had planned to spend the rest of my life with. The one I had talked about kids with, and here she was, with a child growing inside her, telling me she wanted another chance. I wanted a life with her so bad, she was the only one I could see myself with. So I forgave her, and we planned our life.
Ben would have to be a part of it, him being the father, but I told her that he was to be no more than that. Simply the father of her child and that’s it, to which she agreed. I should have known better. She had simply used me. Wormed her way back into my life to drain everything she could from me until I had nothing left, and she succeeded. I did stupid things just to make her happy. I let myself be dragged down so I could lift her up. This was my undoing. I had forgotten how to not feel, how to shut myself off to the world around me and be indifferent. Everything felt like a personal attack, and I was not prepared.
I lost it all, my job, my house, and finally when I had nothing left, I lost her. She smiled as she drove away knowing her work was done. Oh but mine was far from over. She had woken something up, something I had lost long ago when I met her. She made me hate. I could never hate her, but I hated Ben with everything I was, and to a degree, I hated the child. Not that it had done anything to me, but it would never be mine, and that was one outcome I could never change. So I let it in. I let myself hate as I had not done in years. It took over every aspect of my life. I started to lash out at people who didn’t deserve it, people who tried to help me. They only wanted me to be like them, so I refused to see their logic. I let the hate take that from me.
Through all of this I couldn’t stop talking to her. I felt like I needed that connection. As though if I let it go I would truly be lost. One night she invited me out camping with her. I agreed and she picked me up. We went to a boat dock near my house, or my parents house as I had moved back by this point. We talked a bit, her always avoiding the topic of Ben and the baby. I saw this for what it was. Eventually the fire died down and she drifted off to sleep and I fell into my old habits. I picked up her phone and went through it. The entire time she had been with me she had been texting him, talking about sex and everything else that made my blood boil. I slammed the phone on the ground as the fire breathed new life, a cold wind rolling from the river, roaring the fire into an inferno I would have thought impossible for the amount of wood on it. I didn’t care, I was hot anyway from the hate rolling inside my veins. I wanted Ben dead, and I wanted to be the one to do it.
There were many lights on the other side of the river, but on our side the only light came from the fire. As I’ve said, I don’t know why but I was never able to feel the anger towards her that I should have, instead I just felt sorry for her. She was so self destructive, and nothing I could do could change that. It made me feel inferior, and inferior to him was the last thing I would ever be. As she laid there sleeping, I sat and stared at the dying flames once more.
I let it take me over. I saw the things I would do in that fire. The destruction I was capable of causing in her life. The things I knew. I had yet to show my hand, but the time had almost come. I woke her and told her to take me home. She asked why and I simply told her that I felt bad, she accepted this excuse, probably because of how cold it was and her desire to leave as well. She knew nothing of me looking in her phone, or the things I felt inside, I grew very good at hiding them. As we got into the car I realized I hadn’t put out the fire, so while she warmed the car up I went back.
I found a bucket and filled it in the river and started to walk back to the fire, and that’s when I saw it. Something sitting by the coals with its back to me, staring in the flames just as I had done. Whatever it was it was humanoid in shape, but disfigured in a way that almost seemed beautiful. Its limbs long and smooth, almost as if it were made of the shadow it sat in. For some time I couldn’t even move, I couldn’t breathe. I stood there staring at the thing as I watched it pluck a coal from the flames and turn it over in its hand. Its long fingers caressing the coal as if it were alive. I saw the fire being drawn from the coal, it blackening to simply a piece of burnt wood before it was sat back in the fire, where it roared to new life. The inferno from earlier was back and in full force, although all the wood was merely cinders now, no fuel left for fire, but it burned anyway. At the sight of the fire I gasped, and then it turned. Its face was the most horrifying, because of the familiarity.
I didn’t know why but I knew that face, I had seen it somewhere before but couldn’t place it. We stood facing one another for some time, its yellow eyes burning into me, bringing forth a primal fear I had never before felt. Then it smiled and the feeling intensified. It slowly bent down, never looking away from me, picked a coal from the fire, and tossed it in my direction. On instinct I caught it and then realized my mistake. It had just recently been on fire and would undoubtedly leave a nasty burn, but as I looked at it, I saw that it didn’t. In fact it didn’t even feel hot. It slowly went from the bright red of a burning coal, into the dead black that is death, and when I looked back to the fire, whatever it was, was gone.
Forgetting my original intent, I dropped the bucket and the coal and ran for the car. I didn’t know if my current mental state had brought on the apparition, so I slowed to a walk before coming back in sight of the car and passed it off as lack of sleep. She drove me home and we said our goodbyes. I knew this would probably be the last time I saw her, so before she left I told her I loved her, and I always would, that no power on earth could ever make me stop. Her eyes welled with tears but she didn’t look at me, she just put the car in reverse and drove away, out of my life.
The days went by in a haze. I developed a fever and was bedridden for three days after the camping trip. I really should have taken a coat but I didn’t know it would be that cold. In my delirium, the dreams I had were incredibly vivid. I dreamed of the creature by the fire. Sitting there caressing the coals, willing the fire into an inferno that destroyed everything it touched, except me. I walked unharmed through the flames, the thing by my side always. It never spoke, not vocally, but somehow I felt I knew its thoughts. I saw the hate in its eyes, and knew it all too well.
After my fever-induced dreams subsided, I fell back into the world of reality, all thoughts of the creature now just fading dreams. I still didn’t feel much like myself so I spent the next few days just reading, devouring book after book, somewhere around 10 in about three or four days. Doing this helps to put other thoughts out of my head. It's hard to keep a thought straight when you have the lives of a dozen fictional characters swimming in there as well. One night while reading in my room, I started to hear a scratching sound. I have a cat and she’s bad about scratching door frames so I yelled for her to stop without looking up from my book. The sounds promptly stopped and I thought nothing of it. Some time later, I lose track of time as I read, it started again.
After about an hour of reading I’m completely divulged in the book and any outside distraction is that much more annoying. I sat the book down to find the cat and put her in her kennel, and when I looked up to my surprise she was laying beside me, asleep. The sound persisted. At this point I was more than a little nervous, I read far too many scary stories and let my mind warp them into reality in some sense.
I have a window in my room, and as I explored for the sound, it seemed to be coming from there. The blinds on the window were Venetian, and two of them had broken off, so you could see outside. The part that had broken though was about eight feet off the ground, far taller than any human. Yet as I looked out of those two little spaces, I saw two yellow eyes looking back.
Since my fever I hadn’t thought much about the creature, with its elongated limbs, burning yellow eyes, and that smile that even writing about gives me chills and forces me to look behind me. But there it was, staring at me though the break in the blinds. The feeling of dread started to creep through me again, as I realized it was staring at me and had been since the first scratching sound, or maybe longer. How long had this thing been watching me through those blinds, and for that matter, when did they break? I didn’t do it, and I couldn’t remember if they were like that before the camping trip.
The fear left, replaced with anger. Whatever this thing was it was stalking me and I didn’t like it. I wanted to be alone, not watched from some window. I yelled at it, “Well what do you want? You’ve been following me for days so what is it?” At that point my parents walked in to find out what I was yelling at, and before I could even point to the window, it was gone. I walked into the bathroom to splash some water on my face, trying to get a grip on my sanity, and when I looked at the mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh. Not a gleeful laugh as though something was funny. No this was much more sinister, because as I stared at the mirror thinking back to the first day I saw it, by the fire, I realized why the face scared me so much. It was me.
Most of you have probably read the story entitled My Tulpa. For awhile I thought that’s what this was. But it wasn’t born from my thoughts, from me projecting myself onto reality. This was born from hate. Pure, undiluted hate. I had made this thing, and it was now as much a part of me as my own hands, with which I relay this tale. As I stood in the mirror laughing I heard my parents leave the house.
Now they think I'm crazy. I hear them talking at night about having me locked up, but that won’t help. It would find me. It always finds me. I’ve been hiding from it my whole life without even knowing, and she woke it up. Now it knows. The fear I felt from it is gone. I no longer have anything to be afraid of. It is me as I am it. But do not mistake this lack of fear as acceptance. It is not. I despise this creature for what it is, and it grows stronger by the day because of that. It seeks to do all the things I thought of, to infect every aspect of my life with hate, and I fear it will succeed. So I leave you with this last thought. Release the hate in your heart. Hate will destroy you, it will find you and it will eat you alive. Leaving nothing but a husk of who you once were, to drift through this world, while it terrorizes everything you love. Let it go, or face the consequences, as I have.