From afar, we’ve observed your routine and the way you suppress your screams as you live your life. You smile and laugh at people in all the right places, but internally you are suffering and no one around you can see the agony you endure. That pain is delectable. We see it and it drives us wild.
Your soul is ripe, plump and inviting. It glows, even in the darkness, and our teeth chatter as we long to tear strips from it and feast on its infinity. For many years now, we have followed and watched as you struggle against the world, gasping for air as it drags you under. Wouldn’t it be better to stop fighting and embrace the emptiness of forever?
We are the shapeless shadows that swim in the dark undercurrent of reality and your kicking feet are getting closer to our grasp.
You won’t be the first. For millennia, we have latched onto those like you—those misunderstood and ignored. Those betrayed and abused. The ones society discards and overlooks. We take great care never to reveal ourselves until the time is ready and we’re almost there now. Just a few more days.
You aren’t losing your mind. That noise you hear at night? That’s us. That feeling of being watched when you wake up in the dead of night? That’s us. The icy feeling of sharp claws scratching at you as you twist in nightmares? Those nails belong to our hands and those fears that creep across your mind are our ecstatic dances as we revel in the decay of your sanity.
It’s almost time to join us. You are ready for harvest and we are the farmers of the dark crop. Soon, maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but soon we will rip your mind apart and spit out your spirit. It will happen suddenly and when you are alone so we don’t scar those who see.
Do not hope that God can help. The angels will weep tears of blood and your suffering will be exquisite. They will all blame themselves for not helping you or noticing the signs. The ripple effect of your destiny will identify the next and we, with you as our new thrall, we shift our focus and begin our eternal machinations once again.
If it’s quiet enough, you’ll hear us. Flickering the lights, twisting your handles or creaking your floorboards. Our shuffles and whispers will grow to a crescendo and the reality you float through will be cut open and peeled back. You will grow to love the horrors inside.
Tell yourself it’s just a dream and none of it is real. Go to all the doctors you can find and ask He who laments our existence for protection. None of it will matter. You have been chosen.
We are Reavers.
Now, stop reading and see if you can feel us. We’re so close.
You look tired.
Close your eyes.
Lee Harrison is a 32 year old new writer who writes whenever he finds time between teaching English and being a proud new father.
Image by glasseyes view