The Alien I Encountered.....

I saw it again.

I still don’t know what it is. I know it’s something black, something not right. Something that wasn’t meant to be. Something weird and foreign and alien. The visuals aren’t what stick with me, they could be shadows, flailing, thrashing flickers of light. It’s the sounds. The slurping, the gurgling, the groaning. That’s what I remember, that’s what stays with me. That unworldly dark shape tearing fabrics that aren’t meant to even exist, some pan-dimensional abomination forcing itself through the void into our world. I hear it calling into the night in the voices of children. High-pitched giggling and squealing and screaming and singing. I see it slink from 666's basement in the middle of the night, bursting through the slanted storm doors and screeching it’s terrible, childlike siren call, a parody of life calling us to join it in whatever half-place it hails from. I don’t have the courage to follow it.

I don’t remember much of the first time I saw it, heard it, felt it. Cooing, snarling a false innocence into the freezing rain, surging forward like some viscous ebon liquid, seething into the yard and off to whatever destination a creature like that could seek. I only remember shock. Glimpses of what happened still ring in my mind, snatches of myself clawing for the telephone, shaking hands dialing the police, 199. The voice on the other side.

“Calm down, sir, just give us the address.”

I couldn’t. I couldn’t form the words, I couldn’t speak. I jibbered and gaped, not unlike the thing that slithered out of that house. I remember dropping the phone and curling up onto the carpet. Crawling into the corner and sobbing silently.

That was weeks ago. That thing is still out there, still stalking through the night. I haven’t slept since.

June 1, Friday

It got out again. I was almost asleep, so close I could taste it. My body’s so heavy all the time. I’m nervous. Nervous isn’t the word. Terrified. I haven’t left the house in days. I can hear it all the time now, day or night, it doesn’t matter. I hear it summoning, calling out to something. I don’t know what. I know it has to be stopped. This can’t go on. More of those things have to exist. It’s planning...It’s planning.

June 3, Sunday

It was at my door tonight. I heard it slamming its bulk against the metal. I could hear the deadbolt groaning under the strain, threatening to snap and loose the nightmare into my house. I huddled in the corner of my attic. All I could find was a steak knife in the kitchen. I gripped it in both hands the entire night, held it against my chest. Cowering like an animal. I have blisters on my hands. I heard its child-voice, less than twenty feet away from me, crying my name over and over again.

I know what it wants now.