The Creature Began to Speak

Wednesday, June 20th 2012

It was night.

Outside he could hear moaning. The sound of pain perhaps? Every so often it was punctuated by a slash of static. A crude, blocky burst of jagged sound.

He looked through a crack in the curtains. He saw thin, elongated people - were they even people? - standing, slightly twisted, in the moonlight. They moved their arms and upper bodies slowly. As if they were trying to escape agonising, unseen bonds. Every so often they'd appear in one spot and then appear in another. The world seemed like it was starting and stopping, and they were moving in the gaps out of time.

Then he felt nauseous. Dread swept through him. He began to sweat. He turned slowly around.

In the corner of the room he saw a face. Just a face.

It had a thick, low brow. It had two widely spaced, wildly asymmetrical eyes. The eyes moved independently. They roiled in slow, random, spidery circles. Where there should have been a nose, there was a hole. Covering the hole there were tiny fibres, rustling slightly as it breathed. The mouth was like a human mouth, but stretched into a long, narrow, strip; its lips were dessicated, as if unused, neglected, irrelevant.

Slowly the mouth curved into a horrible smile. Into what, perhaps, a psychopath might think a smile should be.

The eyes stopped moving. They looked at him with primal indifference. They were eyes that had seen infinite suffering and thought nothing of it.

The creature began to speak.