Something is chasing me down a long hallway. I’m trying to escape, but I know the only way to do that is by leaping over the wall and onto the window ledge. Then hide there until the scary thing passes. But I’m afraid it’ll sniff me out. They have a sixth sense these things. It’s their ritual understanding of fear and the sense of where the vibrational panic is coming from.
Then I see a hole in the floor. I don’t know where it leads, but I jump in anyway. I’m a goner, so what does it matter?
Darkness. Cold damp darkness. I want to be home and comfortable not feeling this sickening ache in my guts. I want to roast my frost-bitten toes next to a heater. I want to give my pillow a big friendly hug. I want to cry into it until it’s soaked.
Then, I remember the goggles. Ah yes. I put them on. The night becomes a lively glow of sense. I can hear the monster lifting the lid on the hole. I’m fucked. I just want to disappear. I guess any minute I might. I guess that’s just the way my life will go.
But then, as the creature climbs into the damp confined space, my mind clicks the links and I have this strange revelation: perhaps the creature might have thought I was chasing it by pre-empting its movements. What if it considered me a monster? Could it be all my fear was actually not something I had to feel, but rather feeling another who is in reversed time?
I watch in the dark with my deep-sea fish-eye vision goggles as the creature starts consuming itself, feet first, moving upwards until its face sucks into its mouth and the mouth just narrows to a fading pucker twisting in upon itself.