I wanted to write down these thoughts while I still can. With every day that passes, it feels like more and more is taken from me. The horror I should be feeling from knowing that something has been feeding on me in my sleep, that there’s nothing I can do about it (and I have tried. I’ve blocked the doors and windows, lain awake until my eyes burned, trapped my rooms with weapons and noisemakers, and nothing has helped) is less sharp with each morning that comes.
The horror has become acceptance. The horror has become dumb laughter, a feeling of amusement, of detachment. I look at the fresh wounds in the morning, at the old festering sores, and I feel almost nothing.
I am becoming Manny. That, more than what is being done to my body, frightens me. I can see hints of his face when I look into the mirror, see his stupid, vapid grin echoed in my own expression. I can see the progression that will lead to me becoming as empty as him, staring blankly into space, all but a grinning, drooling idiot.
I wonder if this is perhaps what happened to the professor. I’d found him with the barrel of a gun pressed under his chin. It was an ugly, effective angle, more certain than shooting oneself in the mouth, than pressing a gun against one’s temple. He didn’t want even the possibility of a mistake.
I wonder if his arms had been covered in the same countless bites as my own, as Manny’s. Would I have been so hasty to take the book if I had seen them? Would I have asked more questions?
Would it have done me any good?
It’s human nature to wonder, I suppose. Curiosity benefited our ancestors once, but they lived in a world where the things that wanted to devour them were easily understood. Where the things you couldn’t see couldn’t hurt you. Where they could look up at the night sky and see burning lights, see gods and goddesses, angels watching over them, a universe as ordered and serene as a music box.
I wonder what they would think of the world we live in now. I wonder what they would think of the million unseen things that can destroy us now, that we can be aware of but not affect.
I wonder if I’ll ever make it to Europe. I wonder if the Rotundos or some East Coast crime family will come looking for me. I wonder how many more nights until I am like Manny. I wonder what the professor thought of in his last days, his last moments.
I wonder if I will be strong enough to pull the trigger.
The end! Man, that one got away from me. I don’t know about you, but I’m weary of this pseudo-Lovecraftian stuff I’ve been writing recently. I want some fantasy. I want some sci-fi. I want a post-apocalyptic/new Earth setting. I want a strong female protagonist. If only I had such a character that I’ve written about the past.
See you tomorrow!