Submitted by Matthew Enule on Fri, 01/29/2010 - 22:48
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4th of Dest, Andrel 893
I have fallen into failure once more. This morning I sat down to write and, try as I may and no matter how I wracked my brain for thought, I could not find a single thread of inspiration to guide my pen, and after several hours I was forced to concede defeat and lay down my head on my desk in frustration. It has been the same for almost three months now, and every day I keep hoping to turn it around, assuring myself “Today will be different!” “Today inspiration shall strike!” But my situation has not changed, and I remain stuck at the same point in my story as I was three months ago. My train of thought has become stalled and will not progress; my characters have fallen silent and refuse to speak to me. I fear that I have regressed back into my former state of helplessness, only worse now for the brief glimmer of hope that has now faded from sight.
Even in keeping this journal, I have failed: three months ago I last opened it, when I had sworn myself to write in it daily! I simply have not had the heart to do it, nor anything else save that which is absolutely necessary to living. The broken window has yet to be replaced; just six days ago I stepped on a small piece of glass which I had missed. I have told myself every day that I was simply going through a rough patch, and that at any moment I would emerge triumphantly from the other side. But I have been deceiving myself; I have become a total, hopeless wreck since that night in the woods.
The memory of that night… try as I may I cannot dispel it from my mind. The sights and sounds and even the smell and taste and feel of what I experienced in my hallucinations are burned into my mind, as vivid as if they had happened only yesterday, and still bearing the unnatural realism that would make me believe them to be true, had I not known such things to be impossible. More so, even, for each night those events are reenacted in my dreams they seem to take on more terrible detail than the last time, as if my unconscious mind is mocking me with a ghastly parody of my creative aims.
I am there in the woods, standing before the defiled throne of the fairy queen – no longer a figment of imagination based on a fungus-covered stump, but an object as real as I or the ground beneath my feet, covered with mud and dead, brown leaves, its once-beautiful array of flowering vines that wound through the chair back now violently torn down, its petals scattered carelessly across the ground.
As I stare astonished at this heartless act of vandalism, I spy a dark figure lurking in the corner of my vision. I turn and shout for it to identify itself, but instead it darts off into the trees. I try to run after it, but I find it hard to follow, as the creature is always only barely visible at the edge of my perception and seems to move through the trees and underbrush like a ghost. My head begins to spin as I frantically turn in an attempt to get a clear view of the fugitive, and the rays of bright yellow light pouring down through the canopy suddenly grow pale and dim. I stumble and fall to my knees, but quickly regain my balance and rise to my feet.
In front of me I see the thing that I pursue clearly for the first time, standing there not thirty feet away. It is a large, quadruped creature, low to the ground, with fur as dark as pitch and eyes that seem to glow faintly with a blue light sunk deep within its disproportionately large head. Apart from this, I cannot discern any detail of its form, for the edges of the creature’s body appear indistinct, fading into the background and flickering like black flames. Besides this, it stands totally still, its cold eyes staring intensely into my very soul.
At first I am startled by the sight of it, but then the image of the violated throne returns to my mind and I run at the beast in anger, without a doubt in my mind that the thing before me is responsible for the deed. Before I can reach it and strike it with my fists, the creature turns – not in any normal fashion, but by passing its head into its body, and out the other side – and bolts away back into the trees. I resume my chase and, though the creature has mobility far greater than mine, and from appearances should be capable of moving significantly faster than I do, the distance between us remains nearly constant, whether because my emotional state has given me strength beyond that which I normally possess or – more likely, and also more concerning – because the creature is allowing me to keep up with it, but remain out of reach, as a way to confirm that yes, it had defiled the throne of the fairies, and that there was nothing I could do to avenge the deed.
The thought of this mockery only enrages me further, and I barrel through the woods after the wretched creature faster than before. Now we come to a straight path through the woods, where I am able to gain ground on it. As I grow close, the beast’s flickering form begins to change, and in a moment it has taken the shape of an old man. This bipedal form slows the creature considerably, and I am able to come within ten feet of it before it turns its head to look back at me. I trip over a root protruding from the ground and fall in shock, for I recognize in the creature’s face that of the elderly servant whom my parents had employed many years ago.
As I pull myself up from the dirt I suddenly feel the fatigue in my legs and the sweat down my forehead caused by the superhuman exertion I had displayed during the chase. I am barely able to stand, but when I look up to see the creature standing again a short distance ahead, waiting for me, a sinister grin stretched across the stolen face of the kindly old servant, my strength returns to me and I renew my pursuit, hopeless though I know it to be. The creature moves off of the path and back into the deeper parts of the woods, such that I frequently lose sight of it as it passes through or behind a large tree. As I struggle to keep up, I notice it undergoing another change of shape. This time I recognize it clearly as the form of my deceased mother. It is a form more shocking by far than that which it had previously assumed, but this time I do not stumble, nor do I hesitate for even a moment. Rather, I redouble my efforts to apprehend the hateful creature that would profane my mother’s memory by associating her form with itself.
A moment later and the doppelganger changed again, this time into my father. I shout insults after the horrid thing, order it to cease its ghastly imitation of those dearest to me at once, and am answered by a chorus of wicked laughter in the voices of all three. My vision begins to grow cloudy from the sweat and tears of anger flowing into them as we pass into a clearing. The creature stops; I grab it by the shoulders and pull it to the ground, letting out an exasperated but triumphant cry of “I’ve caught you, you vandal! I’ve caught you, you impostor!” But then, as I begin to pass out from sheer exhaustion, the creature on the ground undergoes a final transformation and grins in a grotesque manner as if to say that it had won the day, and not I. My last thoughts as consciousness leaves me are those of horror for, through my swiftly failing vision, I see that the form the creature has taken on is that of myself…
That is the dream that has haunted my sleep these past three months, the thought of which I have been unable to tear from my mind for even the briefest moment, either night or day. Doubtless it is the cause of my writer’s block; how could I be expected to dwell in and record the world of my imagination, when such things occupy my mind and rob me of my sleep? It is a cruel irony that the same power of imagination that allows me to immerse myself so thoroughly in my stories is also what enables this nightmare to affect me so deeply. I cannot continue in this manner; I must find a way of ending this nightly torment…
I will return to the woods tomorrow. It was there that the events of my nightmare took place, and also where I received my greatest inspirations. If there is anything in the world that can take these nightmares away from me, I will surely find it there.
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