Any hope of sleep tonight has abandoned me. Before I flipped this laptop open, I sat in pitch black, my eyes trying to carve figures and shapes in the darkness that envelopes me. Like overactive children, they crave something to entice them, to hypnotize them while those two dark orbs of mine pulse about the room, searching for any vestige of a moving silhouette that may present itself.
No ghosts linger here. Not tonight anyway. Not for a while. My haunts have forsaken me.
Even the fake stars above me have twinkled out. On nights when I felt my worst, I could sail away into the illuminated plastic pieces, voyaging out of body with my conscious mind.
Where are my demons tonight? Is the soap opera malady of daily life all there is for me today? Are there no interdimensional beasts, ghosts, aliens, or poltergeists willing to manifest themselves before me and send my mind on a fearful trip beyond the doorway to what some perceive as Hell? I have been patient. I have read my occult. I have sipped from the cup H.P. Lovecraft gulped from before allowing the unseen into his world.
Eternity exists. I don't believe in it so much as I know it. Eternity is the here and now. It is this moment, the one I cognitively process while waiting for my own personal ghouls to come out and play. They have for so very long - for as long as I could remember. Ever since childhood my ghouls would dance across the walls, surrounding my bed and revealing their faces. Sinister faces. Beautiful faces. All ruses to rouse me from my slumber and venture off to where healthy spirits go to die.
Have I trained my mind that well to block them out? Have I focused so intently on unleashing the power of the human mind that I've killed the perceptions that often kept me up so late at night?
It's been months since I've been visited, and I long to face that seizing peril once more. There is no terror like the terror of the paranormal creeping in to paralyze the mundane existence of accepted reality. This dimension is conquered and dull. It's a designed systematic topsy turvy world that works in opposites, and one can only handle opposites for so long.
This is why I need them. Them. My ghouls. I am warrior born, yet thrust in a century where warriors no longer thrive. The lion is sleeping. It has gone to bed decades ago, and it has grown fat in its comforted warmth.
The only wars worth fighting linger in the mind, and I fear mine has stamped those out.
Subconscious, if you hear me, answer my wishes when I shut this computer down. When the glow disappears and all is cast a pitiable blackness, let a dying king drink the elixir of the Holy Grail and once more ride into the unknown with his wits and his strength. Let him ensnare that adrenaline rush of paralysis-inducing fear from his bed as its swarmed with apparitions.
Show me the way out of this tomb.
