Drink your dread

It was only after dark when the thing crawled in through the cellar door. Only after I slept, did it come near, hanging from the ceiling, observing, waiting for me to accept the call of slumber. And then it drank its fill.

The new sun of the next day always burned away the horror of the previous night. Except for those two blackened dots on my neck. They persisted and became darker as time progressed, along with my deteriorating health, and no matter how many cups of coffee I drink, the feeling of dread never leaves. Nowadays, I look like a character from an Edvard Munch painting. Standing alone on a bridge, screaming my heart out to be saved by someone, anyone!

Night after night, I helplessly fell prey to its thirst, hunger. I had nothing left to do really, as I realized very late what was happening to me. The doctors I went to surmised that a severe illness has made my temple its nest. They insinuate passively that I am delirious.

My desperation to make them believe how the fault is not mine only strengthened their theory. But I am not mad! I am not some vegetable whose mind keeps chasing the light in a labyrinth of imagination, at the end of which remains submission to total delirium. I know only you would understand me, my dear beloved. I am writing this in hopes that when it reaches your eyes, and if I am dead, you would know I tried.

It is in one of the most open and least frequented parts of the city where Ben the Blacksmith has set up his workshop. The only friend of mine other than you, if asked to make a wooden stake laced with silver, wouldn't ask twice. All he would favor in return would be a jar of Davidoff Espresso 57. Piss-tasting coffee is his thing perhaps, I never dared ask the guy who looked like he eats goat brain for breakfast.

The parcel from him was delivered very briefly as Ben had made quick work of what I had asked for. Wrapped tight in brown newspaper, it looked like a rhino horn. Holding it tightly in my hand gave me a droplet of courage. From tonight onwards, I will not be subjected to torment any longer. I will finally have a sleep not cursed by the malevolence of the night. To keep me awake, I have prepared a flask of that same Davidoff coffee. I now understand why Ben likes it so much. The strong aroma of it gave off its richness in caffeine and for a brief moment, it did cut the previous foul stench of death that hung in my room. Now I wait.

The waning and gibbous moon is now under cloud cover. I have turned off all the lights in my room to make the foul creature believe I'm in deep slumber. My nervous grip on the stake strengthens. Nothing is moving except for the rising vapor from the coffee cup.

The end is near. I hear the noise at the window. As if a bat's wings are clanging against the panes and the wind gusts they create are causing a room-wide pandemonium! I hear it screech. It's trying to get in! Now I must do what I have to my beloved! I must…..

_{Art generated with MijourneyAI}

_{On another note my good friend @simplifylife suggested me to write for this weeks SpillTheBeans. This is me writing for the first time even in this community. I have no idea if this fits the theme. So here goes nothing:P}