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This story may or may not have actually happened as described. It is entirely possible that this memory is nothing more than an alcohol-induced hallucination, the kind of fever dream that slips into the void, never to be verified, debated only by unreliable witnesses and forensic wall damage.
What I do know is this: The walls did suffer. That much is indisputable. Something happened that night. Something beyond our feeble human understanding. Something best left undisturbed.
Too late. You’re reading this.
– rds
Once upon a time, in the grand tradition of all tragic figures before me, I was a broke bachelor living at Glen Ayr, devoid of feline security forces and utterly at the mercy of the universe.
I did what any exhausted, inebriated, single man would do—I passed out on the couch.
Not in bed, because that would imply structure, self-care, or at the very least, coordination. No, I collapsed on my couch, an organic pile of regrets and beer fumes.
At some indeterminate point in the night, my body, in an act of astonishing betrayal, decided to regain consciousness. I scratched my face, blinked blearily, and then—
Wait.
What the fuck was that?
Something was hanging from the ceiling molding between my kitchen and living room. Something small. Something curled up. Something… waiting.
No. No, no, no. This wasn’t some dime-store horror flick. I wasn’t in Transylvania. There was no Vincent Price voiceover. And yet, there it was.
It radiated a slow, pulsing heat, like a demonic power-saving mode.
It was small, but its aura was oppressive.
It was aware.
It was monitoring.
Oh, fuck me.
Be it friend or daemon, familiar or grigori?
| None. All.
It was a bat.
Not just a bat. The Bat.
A tiny, winged harbinger of doom.
A pocket-sized embodiment of chaos.
A biological glitch in the system.
The Germans, in their infinite linguistic efficiency, call them Fledermäuse, which suggests some kind of innocent flying rodent, but I wasn’t buying it.
This was no mouse.
| This was something from the Deep Code of reality, a subroutine written in the ancient, forgotten programming language of nightmares. |
|---|
I couldn’t see them, but I knew it had talons.