Minor Writings

The Crawler

Shrieking, scratching, moving in intervals of different paces, and grinning as it does so occasionally. You can't see it. You can't hear it. No, but you can sense it in a way that is beyond words. It etches itself into the rear of the mind. Ever so often it speaks. A low growl, a scowl, some might say it makes if its existence was known by others.

"The Crawler,' is what the host has dubbed it. Not a physical being but more like a spirit but not quite. A part of the host it may be. The host rebukes the very idea of the Crawler being a component of them. Something so sinister and sly. Dare I share this news with you? Will you tell anyone of this wretched being? The host knows not what the Crawler truly is. Not so very often the thought of insanity crosses over the mind of the host, and when that time comes the Crawler deposits itself onto the inner skull and chuckles.

"Mad may I say you'll become!" It bellows. "Never shall I give into or believe the sayings of you," the host replies. The host cries out in their conscious mind from the searing pain as the Crawler outstretched and drags it's claws along the back of the brain. While doing so, the Crawler whispers little, evil sayings into what seems to be like an inner ear of the host's conscious mind. "It's torture!" The host yelps. "One moment I'm sane, and the next I'm not. Yet, I can still empathize and love," he whispers. "He did this to me."