Every night as I go to sleep the Dark Man watches me from the corner of my room. I do not know what he wants. It frightens me. Does he remain there while I sleep, watching me? Is he waiting for me to do something? If he disturbs me in my sleep it is never enough to wake me; at least I have no memory of this happening. I want him to speak, to explain himself, but I’m afraid to hear his voice. Could it be worse than the creeping silence he creates?
What if he has no tongue? What if he does? I can’t decide which truth is worse.
I imagine him opening his mouth. From within him pours a thick effluvium. It doesn’t trickle down his chin, but willows through the air like ink in water, as if the darkness within devours all light. I know if his mouth remains open for long this ink will spread until the universe is drowned.
The Dark Man never moves or makes a sound. I have only my imagination to explain him.
And that is worse than anything.