“I think I am the last one left alive here. Everyone else has either been converted or died. There are bodies of animals and humans wherever I go, and the strange thing is, they don't seem to rot. As if even bacteria are dead. But somehow I am still alive and I think I know why.
Things seem to disappear from this place. Notes and cassettes. Only simple things. They seem to get through when other things can't.
I think that's on purpose.
An intentional choice, an allowance made by the Dark. He wants those on the other side of the boundary to try and be prepared. Not warned. There is no warning that could possibly make it easier. But he is not cruel. So he keeps willing that these testaments slip through. That people outside the gray know that Erebus is going to find his way soon.
Just like he always does.
There is a cruel intention in all of this.
There are things that slip through. Of different realities. Different eventualities. They do not escape into the new world to conquer.
These monsters are running from him.
And now there is so little time left.
He is just about finished here. I seem to be the only one left, and I suspect that the only reason why I have not yet been converted or died is so I can let the people on the other side of the veil know what is coming.
Whether you feel despair or joy, determination or anger does not matter. The conversion to the dark is not something emotional. It is simply a process.
Like entropy, and when he is finished all of reality will return to where it began.
It will return to darkness.
And on the seventh day he will rest.
The world is gray. I see it like that no matter the time of day. I can't say for sure if I am still alive. I refuse to look in the mirror to find out. All I know is there are blank spots in my memory, and I find that I am no longer hungry.
Every day it is getting darker, and I am having trouble remembering what the sun looks like.”
Last few nights. Same dream. Feels less like a dream. Way back when. When I researched Sarah. What she thought in the end. Studied the occult. Prophecy.
Feels less like a dream.
Wake up. Feel cold. Like the heat was taken from my body.
Nothing seems to help. Tried more blankets. Used a heater.
Wake up. Feel cold.
Fades with time. Last night. Dream felt like the last one. The thing that used to be a man. Didn't have long. Doesn't have long. Won't have long...
Dream feels somehow out of time. Separate.
Margaret seems to be having the same dream. Not sure what to think about that.
October is coming. Not sure how to feel. Every year its a reminder of bad memories. But this will be the first year without the kids. Just Margaret and I. Handing out candy. Maybe going to the local fair.
They are bringing back the house of mirrors.
Feels like things are coming together now. This is the way things are unless something terrible happens. Not sure if I like it. But it is enough.
Margaret and I talk like we used to. About silly things. About anything really.
I've missed her voice. The way her hands link with mine when we walk.
This time of year we take lots of walks.
Take Loyd with too. Some reason he likes to come with.
Always staring at things.
Dogs avoid him.
We like to watch the colors change. To note the changes in the air. The decorations as they go up. Forgot how much these moments meant to us.
I've been sick for so long.
A few more days and we reach October.
Planning a get together with the neighbors.
Look different. Skin isn't as flaky. Say they managed to get surgery. Correct the damage.
Hate that word.
Flowers are almost all dead.
Preparing for the cold.