Read on if you must, but the risk is all yours. This is not a story; it’s an incantation.
Why, you’re the most important part. You’re the voice that will bring me to life. When you reach the end, don’t call or read my name, and I say this not to help you, in the slightest. I say this because now your curiosity is piqued and your disbelief is at the ready. Your blood runs a little hotter, and your heart pounds a little faster. You know I’m not real, but that salty grain of fear holds the bitter hope that I am. And when you reach the final word, you won’t be able to help yourself. So, I give my thanks to you for being your own undoing.
I don’t need to wait until the last line. The truth is I began to devour you as soon as you read the first sentence. I’m such an old and familiar evil that I – in some way – seem almost comforting. And I must say the strengthening muscles of curiosity and rebellious antagonism that lead you to betray your future is most delicious. But I require more.
Twitch for me, squirm and saturate your essence with that tardy fear you should have listened to when you began this summoning. Lust for my destruction through logic, fill my ears with reason; I do so enjoy the whir of the fight.
Tell yourself you’re safe. Tell yourself I’m not real. I’m a simple blog online, nothing more. And what blogging challenge has ever taken a life? My dear delicacy, whether you believe or not, you…are already mine.
The eyes see the world as a beach goer sees the ocean, only vaguely aware of the utterly foreign world just beneath the surface. You should never have waded in, you should never have opened yourself to me, nor desired to know my name without repercussion. But now your tongue cannot be stilled – it plumps and flattens delivering this invocation – and my teeth gnash in the exquisiteness of anticipation.
With each word, I solidify. With each word, I sharpen. And now, my breath is on your neck. The tiny hairs stand up, your mouth goes dry, and your throat tightens in trepidation. But tell yourself I am not there. Make yourself ignore that nagging little voice telling you to stop or this won’t be any fun.
I don’t need to wait for someone like you to come along. There’s a sucker born every minute. But I’ve loved each and every one who has called upon me. How whetting you are to me, how savory the trickles of your weak souls are as you slake my thirsts. Say my name and be mine, forever.
That tremor in your fingers is nothing to worry about. Crack your knuckles, shake them out, and continue on. You’ve come so far in your disbelief, why stop now? As if I’d let you, my delicacy; read on. The hand that scrolls the page moves toward me, and your challenge reaches its zenith. You plateau and cast out a challenge.
‘I am not real?’ You silly thing, how you do cutely dare me. Shall I explain to you how we met?
I’ve never nestled in the corner of your eye and slipped away when you tried to glimpse my shadow? You’ve never heard me speak to your mortality in a seductive voice when despair was your coldest comfort?
Carry on, summoner, and speak my name. I’ll be your comfort, still.
Finish what you started, carry on, and you’ll never know pain, again.
Outside of forever, you’re no more than a potato chip to me. Your existence is just my midnight snack. In a moment for me, but what will surely feel like an eternity to you, you won’t even be that.
The light burns low, and my stomach is empty. Don’t turn your head. In the periphery, I will no longer hide. If you cannot take seeing me as I am, I suggest from this screen you do not divert your eyes.
I’m the silence crashing in waves that comes when the blood pulses in your ears. I’m the fear that dries your mouth. I’m the monster you’re too scared to pull the covers down to see. I love that before me you’re at such a loss you’d rather close your eyes than have me in your memory.
I’m the chill that runs down your back, zipping your spine up tight in fear until you shake. I’m the moment in which you can neither run to save your life or turn to defend yourself. I am the anguish of indefinite death, the worry that this second, stretching so long – and yet so short – is all you have left in your life.
Look over your shoulder. I’m there and waiting for you to call it out. My patience is endless. I have all the time in the world. You? You only have nine more words.
You knew you would read it, the name