At night they come to life…
They crawl down the tower, cloaked in the shadow of darkness, keeping to the edges of perception like some long forgotten evil at the corners of your mind. They seek me out, I hear them scratching at the door, and before I know it they’re here, inside my head. They claw their way inside and burrow deep inside my darkest secrets. They reach within my soul and find the inky blackness that I hide from everyone. They bring it all to the surface and make me do things. Things that I would never do. Except, in my heart, I’ve done them a thousand times.
Oh, the deeds they make me do… The blood, the violence, the violation. I beg my memory to forget, but it’s all so clear to me, laid out before my recollections in a perfect vision of ecstatic depravation.
Each night I wash the blood from my hands, but as I wake it still remains. I am stained, wholly and utterly, and no amount of water can ever cleanse my soul.
The uniformed man leans over the table that separates us. I can see the horror and the disbelief in his eyes.
“One more time, for the tape, tell us what happened on the evening of the fourth…”
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told him now… I know I have no real defence… And so I begin again…
“At night they come to life…”