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Those Fucking Fingers

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I remember a thing that haunted my dreams when I was a kid. True story.

I never gave it a name, because it was there from some of my first memories. Those fucking spindly fingers... it used them to dig into my skin.

It tortured me throughout my childhood, a figure of dread and horror.

I would scream and kick and fight with my parents, and finally break down and beg, "Don't make me sleep! Don't make me sleep!"

I drew some pictures for you.

It was deathly skinny. It looked sick, as if consumed by some kind of terminal illness.

Still, it stood tall. There was no lack of energy in its horrible vigil over my youth.

It stalked through my dreams like a shadow, and watched me. A kind of slenderman-style, unwavering surveillance.

I was sure it intended me harm.

I told my parents about my bad dreams, and drew them pictures of my nightmare.

When I stopped talking, they sent me to a child psychologist. She told them it was related to me losing my cousin to a car accident.

They were told to carry on as normal, but talk to me openly about anything they thought I might be interested in.

The dreams became progressively worse.

It no longer simply watched me.

It killed me.

It would insert those fucking fingers into my skin, and bleed me out.

It got more creative with its kills, over time. It would drag me through dark forests, or hurl me over buildings.

It would stab me in the eyes and rip out my spinal cord.

I felt every cut, every bruise and insertion. I fucking felt everything this nightmare beast put me through. At this point, I was roughly ten or eleven. Back in 2002-2003.

Its eyes were hollow, and I could see the back of its skull through their gaping emptiness. Its mouth was an endless pit of teeth and black liquid. Its greasy hair hung roughly around its shoulders, and a bit of bone showed around this area. Its nostrils were reptilian slits, but I can't recall there being anything where the ears should be.

It was covered in lacerations, and rotated between haunting laughter, guttural taunts and some form of hissing and gurgling.

Its feet were something akin to a chicken's, albeit the same deathly white as the rest.

I was terrified of this thing, this being, this beast. It played its sadistic games with me each night, and I became a complete wreck.

I developed an eating disorder, and showered so thoroughly each morning that I tore away skin. I became convinced that the thing would just stop if I became clean, but it didn't.

Rereading this, I realise that it almost seems like I'm setting this up so that I become the beast.

I don't. I want that clear. I'm a person. The disorders stopped, eventually. I go to a university, and I'm 19.

Regardless, I just couldn't cope with this fucking nightmare anymore.

I tried to kill myself in the summer of 2009. I was 17. (I'm from Australia. If you're from the Northern Hemisphere, it was your winter).

I tried to slit my wrists in my room, with the door locked.

My parents found me, of course. They rushed me to the hospital, and got me "fixed".

It's funny. I never saw it again. I wish I had a better ending for you, but that's it.

It left me, and I still don't know if I'm crazy or haunted.

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