The Testimony of Jonathan Edward South

It was conceived in the deepest recesses of the mind with a kiss of fear and the caress of nightmares that would show vividly the gruesome form that desired the eternal breath of life and no different from the breath of a newborn. But innocence played no part in what was conceived from the darkest realms of the imagination, nor could it ever be repeated it again.

 

"I write this by fire and candlelight, it fears the fire but I'm afraid it grows bolder with the passing of every minute so I must write quickly and to the point. This is my testimony of the recent events that have occurred in the last three days of my life and I, Jonathan Edwards South, know that these few moments may very well be my last. I cannot tell when it began but I can tell you how it came, and it came in the form of nightmares.

 

The first nightmare awakened me in a cold sweat. I cannot begin to describe to you what images I saw, it is too terrifying to remember and that thing out there feeds on my fear. . . I know that now. . .unfortunately too late for my own sake.

 

I had the dream again and then it would not leave, it was the same thing every night until a week later when I stopped sleeping all together. I was so shaken that my day life was as frightening as my night life, I would check closets and under beds and behind furniture, any place where someone or something could hide I checked it before I could become comfortable in the room and relax."

 

He looked up and in his memories was one of himself seated in the brown leather upholstered chair by the fireplace in the library reading the journal note of his deceased colleague given to him by a relative no doubt, a young lady with such a delicate face and soft blue eyes and her blond hair cradled the line of her hat and hanging down over her ears.

 

They exchanged sympathetic words upon the demise of the deceased colleague and uncle, hers of course, and then she handed him the book for which she said was meant for him; her uncle left instructions before he died. He thanked her and she smiled and then left.

 

He immediately returned to his present self, the memory giving him a better understanding of the nightmare that lurks behind the library door. He could hear it listening to his thoughts but the idea of such were so frighteningly mad that he shook his head and tried to forget that he even imagined it, and then he realized that he was mad, beyond sanity and even if there was hope of surviving this there would be nothing to help his mind. 

 

Death would be merciful if he were to end up locked inside this room with that thing out there waiting for him and all the while life surged around him in the world outside. Suddenly, the feeling seized him; the thought of it made him giddy, he wanted to go over and open the door and let it take hold.

 

He laid the pen down on the paper before him, placed his hands on the armchair and raised himself up on steady legs despite the fear surging through him and walked over to the door. The thing out there was menacingly quiet, but it was waiting and had whatever hearing capabilities pressed to the door. The vision of this shook him out of his trance and he looked down - and to his horror - saw that his hand had grasped the doorknob and turned it. His mind screamed but his throat cut it off before it could escape and all that came out of him was a choked off sigh, his hand still gripping the door knob and something inside him would not let go, not even to turn it back to its original position. Until he realized that it wasn't locked, his hand repulsed from the door and he stepped back from it, wrapping himself in his arms and turned away from the sight of it.

 

If it could hear his thoughts then it would know by now that the door was unlocked, but was it unlocked the whole time or did he unlock it? And then wondered if he had locked it just now? And when he turned his eyes met with the thing that had been standing silently behind him, waiting. And this time his throat did not betray him. The thing returned his scream with a ghastly howl, the wind from its orifice knocked Jonathan off his feet and he fell to the floor and then it was practically on top of him. Jonathan raised his arm to cover his face as he crawled backward, and when he glimpsed a look back at the thing he screamed of new horrors as he looked at the bloody stump of what had once been an elbow. It lunged at him again and it's massive teeth dug into his face, tearing it from his head and ending the last sound he will ever make.

 

Epilogue:

When the body was found, there was evidence of a struggle, and the front door was wide open blowing in cold November air. The body was found by a concerned friend, now shaken by the sight of the mangled corpse, and the policemen could not get a word out of the acquaintance except for mumblings.

 

Detective Bradley bend down beside the corpse as officer Haring stood there looking on at the sight of the library and the mangled corpse trying to piece together the events that might have occurred before the victim's demise.

 

"Poor fellow, they really did him in." 

The detective frowned at the comment as he inspected what was left of the face and his eyes followed the thick trail of blood to the victim's hands, raising the hand closest to him and it was clear to detective Bradley as to what had happened. He looked up at officer Haring. 

"Look here, there's flesh underneath the fingernails, on both hands and blood leading from the face to the hands. He was his own attacker." 

Officer Harring looked down in horror and exclaimed,

"My God! What could make a man do such a thing?"

" Madness, fear. . . It is hard to tell what was going on in his mind. I've seen cases where patients, deprived of sleep, have attacked themselves but never to this extent."

Officer Haring shook his head sadly and begin to turn away from the body,

"I'd rather not know. . . This alone may give me nightmares for a week!"