You put the glasses on again. You cannot for the life of you discern what possessed you to do it, but you do. Your hands seem like foreign objects as they slide the cool metal over the bridge of your nose once more.The creature appears once more, this time sitting atop the dresser drawer of the room. When you look at it, it waves at you, grinning with all of its awful rows of shark-like teeth. You take them off once more, and the creature disappears. You put them on again, and the creature appears, sitting cross-legged on the plush white carpet floor. When you take the glasses off again, it disappears. With every emergence and vanishment of the creature, your heart sinks anew, and you doubt your sanity over and over again. Yet each time you filter your vision through those dark-tinted lenses, the creature is always there, always waiting, always smiling. Always already looking at you every time you glance at it. It never seems to look away. Your legs feel like dead weight. You wish once more that you had control over your useless limbs. You wish you could make them get up, make them walk, make them leave. You wish you could throw the glasses in the garbage and never look through them again. Or better yet, crush them under your foot so that no one may behold this awful, horrid creature ever again. And yet... You can't seem to. You find yourself being strangely drawn to the monochrome creature, who draws nearer every time you look. You know that it is real. So real that it could reach out and touch you, taste you. You shudder to think of what it could do to you if you get any closer. Yet, there is a compulsion. Every time you pull the glasses from your face, you raise them back. You want to keep looking, and that scares you. You fight the urge, your hands shaking as you do. You shove the glasses roughly under the pillows behind you, thinking surely whatever magnetism was occurring between your face and the glasses would lessen if only you placed enough distance between them. You wonder if that was the reason why the glasses were in the attic in the first place. Perhaps the old woman had experienced this same sensation. Perhaps this is what drove her to become a recluse, to live alone and leave everything in the will to the child of her estranged child, whom she herself had never met. Perhaps this is what drove her to decorate her home the way she did, and to fill it with that awful pinstripe candy. You still don't understand how this is at all possible. Or why it is happening, or why it is happening to you. You surely must have suffered enough in this life, why is the universe doing this to you now? Giving you this house out of nowhere only to fill it with haunted ghost clowns. You offhandedly wonder if the creature is a ghost, you're not sure if ghosts can physically interact with the living, and this creature more certainly touched you. You feel your hands reaching behind you once more, itching to see it again, that strange clown creature. You feel as though you're not fully in control of your own body as you hold the glasses so tightly in your hands that you're almost afraid that the glass will shatter. You feel as though you're possessed, and that you have two minds. Your mind, an ocean of fear and panic which came in waves, but you could barely feel it. It was as though you were looking through a fogged window and your feelings lay just beyond it, muffled and distorted and far away. Whatever drove you to slide them on once again felt nothing but a sort of morbid curiosity. It made you move, it made you wonder. You wanted to watch the creature more. You want to observe it, to see what it will do. You want to see what it will do to you. You wonder if it might hurt you, you wonder if it might kill you...You slip the glasses on while half of your brain screams in desperate protest, and the other half meets the monochrome lens with silent, steadfast, curious resolve.
