I am millions of things. Yet, I am mostly fear. Fear, terror itself, lies not on the outside but comes from within. It lurks, it looms in the shadows, and it surfaces whenever we’re most vulnerable. Only a foolish one should ever fear the unknown, such as mythical entities and paranormal beings. True terror as we know it comes from the depths of our own psyche. Foul creatures and decaying monsters were nothing compared to the sheer horror of reality itself. We were the ones feeding our own nightmares. We were the gods we feared.

To confront myself, and to be alone with my own existence, was doom. Mine was the face of despair, and let alone, despair I was. As I felt my sins and my guilt crawling upon my back, my vision darkened and the pitch-black taste of tar filled my mouth. And this, alone, was to experience true horror; to be left alone, to rot by itself, to feel your doubts and thoughts take you over until there was nothing but a trace of your former self. To feel fear is to not know. To feel fear is to not understand. To feel fear is to be lost, to be broken, to be unfixable. It is a majestic, wondrous feeling, yet and unsetlling and abhorrent one, as you become more and more disconnected from your former self yet you can’t shake the feeling that you’re still there.

Demons and monsters meant nothing to me. Human-like, man-made creatures are nothing but a caricature of man itself in order to dissociate the horrors of its own kind. I had no need for them. I was still me. I was still fear.