If you are following my chronicles then perhaps you will notice that my hand is quite shaky and my writing has taken a character like an old manÂ’s many times my age. Even now my nerves feel jaded from the events of this week; and as I write I feel that my constitution is stretched beyond all reason and it is all that I can do to keep myself together to record these events.
Were it not me who bore witness to these happenings then I would not believe them – I would construe them the rambling’s of a deranged mind or a work of pure fiction.
For this reason, at the outset, I will swear to you on the strength of my own eternal soul that the words that you shall read are a true and just account of the happenings of this week. I swear that I am not effected by any drink or hallucinogen; nor can my sanity be called to question as will be certified by any medical practitioner that you may seek to nominate.
To begin I assumed it as a dream. I was seated at my desk, working to the light of a gas lamp that flickered, throwing long shadows about the room. The clock within the hallway rang twelve then continued the slow echoed ticking that gives such solace as I work late into the night.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins, left a pot of tea upon the mantle. It remained untouched and cold - I was so enamoured by my work that I could not afford any type of distraction.
I considered a critical passage of my writing then lay my head upon the desktop, placing my quill to the side, folding my tired eyes into my armsÂ… I rolled the plot through my head, affirming its course before setting it to the page. It was then, whilst in deepest thought, that it occurred to me that I was not alone.
There is a feeling that one gets when uninvited eyes invade personal space. Like breath upon the neck or an insect's touch to naked skin - it causes the skin to crawl and the hair follicles to freezeÂ…
I rested my head within my hands, feeling my heartbeat rise slowly and small beads of sweat accumulate as I spied about the room. A curtain billowed gently - sweeping unnaturally (I knew the window to be double-glazed and double locked). I lunged forward, seizing it to reveal my reflection within the glass.
A cloud of smoke appeared before me. Slowly growing it took shape, condensing like a tropical storm. A face appeared - first vague and undefined, its definition grew with each passing second. I closed my eyes tightly, shaking my head in disbelief whilst fanning fresh air toward me. I drew a breath and slowly opened my eyes.
First eyes appeared and then a nose; a mouth smiling blankly like a Cheshire cat. The eyes were red and grizzled - they danced unnaturally, stealing manic glances about the room. My scream was silent and internal - staring in morbid fascination at the spectre until its eyes rolled backward, closing its lids like a keeper to Hells gate.
I buried my eyes into my palms, seeking release from this nightmare; wheezing then collapsing to the desk where I lay silent until the clock rang once.
…“Gong!”…
Â…the echo reverberated about the roomÂ…
The face hung suspended like a reflection. Staring blindly. ItÂ’s billowed cheeks expanded and contracted with each slaughtered breath. The skin was green, decaying like rancid fruit, it begat a smell so foul that it forced me to wretch. Frenzy overtook me and I formed a fist, lashing out like a striking snakeÂ…
It dropped lightly to the desk like a dead moth. I stared at it and it returned my stare from empty sockets where the manic eyes had rested. Its nostrils dull and still. Its cheeks now tamed to the servitude of a mask - inanimate and dumb. I considered it gently, cradling it within my hands like a surgeon.
It was a mask of Venetian styling - contorted like a Leonardo sketch - a disfigured celebration of the human visage. Its twisted smile supported a heavy lower lip over scattered teeth that revealed themselves at severe angles.
I held the mask within my hand, examining it slowlyÂ… turning it over and overÂ… Was this the spectre of minutes earlier? Â… From where did it appear? Â… Was it all the fiction of a dream?Â…a nightmare? Such questions ran maniacally about my headÂ…
I held the mask up to my faceÂ…And that is all that I remember for next I was woken as the morning sun shone through the scattered curtains and the clock rang soundly. I searched crazily about my desk, scattering the manuscript to the corners of the room until satisfied that the mask was no where to be foundÂ…

08/04/2003

Author's Note: My first attempt at horror fiction...this is a work in progress that I will add to daily until the conclusion of the story...comments and critique are very welcome

Posted on 08/04/2003
Copyright © 2026 Graeme Fielden