Exactly six days have passed since I was pulled into that… place. I still can’t wrap my head around what happened. It felt like a nightmare, but it was far too vivid, too raw to be anything so simple. The pain was real—so real that I can still feel it now, echoing in my body like a distant memory that refuses to fade. The wounds I suffered fighting off those… creatures haven’t healed like they should have. They’ve all turned into scars, but not normal scars. No, these are something else entirely.
The scars are raised and dark, twisted things with an eerie, spiderweb-like pattern radiating outward from the central marks, almost as if something was spreading beneath the surface. They’re rough and calloused, the skin feeling strange and lifeless, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. When I run my fingers over them, there’s no sensation, just numbness, like the nerves have been severed or deadened. Yet, at the same time, I sometimes feel this unsettling tingle—like tiny shocks running just under my skin. It’s not pain exactly, but it’s enough to drive me to the brink of madness, a constant reminder of whatever happened to me in that place.
The worst part is how it’s wearing me down, eroding my sanity day by day. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Every waking moment feels like I’m teetering on the edge, unsure if I’ve truly escaped or if I’m still trapped in some twisted reality that I can’t wake up from.
These past six days have been the hardest of my life, trying to keep it together, pretending like everything is fine. But it’s not. There’s more. I swear I’m being followed. There’s this car—an unmarked sedan—that’s been parked outside my apartment all week. Whenever I leave to run errands, I can feel their eyes on me. They’re always there, trailing me. Yesterday, I finally worked up the nerve to confront them. I walked right up to the car, but before I could say anything, they sped off. The windows were so darkly tinted that I couldn’t see who was inside. There were no plates either.
And then today, things got worse. I woke up to find a letter slid under my front door. No name, no return address. Just an envelope with a single message inside:
“You’re being followed. I can explain more at this secure location.”
Below the message was an address, a date, and a time—tomorrow night, 10 PM.
I don’t know what to do. Do I go? What if this is a trap? But what if it’s my only chance to understand what’s happening to me?