Sun Summoner's madness

I write these words with now barren hope abandoning me. It has become an obsession really, thinking I will ever communicate with another being other than myself – even through some unilateral texts like these. One sided communication, maybe, but a mere thought of anything of mine, even feeble and artless words depicting my thoughts, being seen by another person fulfills me.
I suppose I should tell how all this came to be, how my fate trapped me within these walls, uncertain and unfathomable as they may be.

Not so long ago, I think, I fell ill. My mother took great care of me, as all mothers should. It was during those few days of lost contact with friends and outsiders something must have taken place. Something I cannot remember of, no matter how I tried. I do remember an odd event however. An event I blame for all of dismay that has befallen me.

I had a dream during my illness. A vivid one, with color and sound, thoughts bright, a picturesque feeling, things no dream should have. I dreamt of my own house. Of my room, in which I slept. In this dream too, I was confined to my bed, and my health was weakly. There was nothing out of the ordinary, a surprisingly good replica of my room this was. It was so believable, that I felt a surge of references considering each, even the smallest, detail of this room. The small cracks in the wall, a dent beneath the window where air fluxed freely. The furniture, and specks of dust beneath it. All the pesky insects, crawling through the misshapen parquetry became familiar to me. But in my omnipresent insight I felt one thing wrong. At first I wasn’t bothered, I enjoyed my new presence of mind.

Soon however, it started to stand out even more. In my satisfaction of this new knowledge of my surroundings, resembling a soothing plateau of comfortness, there was a splinter. And just like a real thorn irritates your skin as you move, this thorn tampered with my mind’s bliss as I tried enjoying it. What was this that troubled me so?

I stayed in bed, raising my body up, resting on the cranks of my arms; I focused my mind on this intrusion of my room’s counterpart. It was a flower. A sunflower.
“A flower…”, I thought. “This should not cause discomfort, aren’t flowers supposed to be complaisant to one’s thoughts?”
I laughed my discomfort away, but the uneasy state of my reason did not dissipate. Furthermore, it grew. How dares this one flower interrupt my dreaming? I quickly realized I must find it, suspend it from my chamber, if I wanted to proceed with the pleasants of my dream. Not much effort did I muster in sensing it behind the shelf, in the corner of the room.

I rose up, quickly walking towards it. I could not see behind the shelf where I knew the flower laid. Feeble in health as I was, it took a few arduous pulls and pushes to clear way to the room’s corner. And there it was. Silly almost, in its size and fragility, it seemed uneager to leave its place.

When I think back now, I see the horrible misfigured form that the flower had, and how it escaped me then, remains unbeknownst to me. I picked it up, no, I culled it up, since it seemed to have a firm bearing in the floor, as if there was roots sprouting through the cold concrete of my home. I opened a window, and tossed it out not even looking behind it.

Strangely enough, I felt then as if I did something wrong. There was a dismal qualm spreading throughout my being, a sensation that brought my dream to an end.

I woke up, but the feeling did not cease.

For the rest of the day my mother shepherd me. I felt comfort once again, as much as my ailment allowed me. I remember nothing else about this day. Later on I believe, serene slumber took me over.

I woke up somewhere late into the night, or early in the morning, whatever you see it as. I must have clumsily kicked the blanket off in my sleep since it was now mostly on the floor. I noticed, looking down my bed towards the clinging blanket, the door to my mother’s room were open, but from my pillow I could see nothing else. I shrugged it all off, willing to go back to sleep. I reached for the part of the blanket still on top of my sheets and gave it good long tug, trying to pull it up.

No luck. It seems to be stuck.

Another sharp pull seemed to gave way, and little by little, I recovered my covers, while trying to ignore the growing feeling of dread. I pulled a bit more, and finally, recovered it completely. It was mostly back on the bed and I was safely under it again. Until, just before I drifted back asleep, there was a gentle tug from that one side where the blanket was still dangling, down from where it had fallen before.

Tug. Tug. Tug.

I dared not look down. I decided to mask my vigilance, and pretended to be asleep. A few moments later, I heard soft footsteps and then a bent silhouette of my mother came into my sight. I felt relief, a great ease took me over seeing my mother’s familiar gown. I did however proceed with my false slumber, curious to see my mother’s actions and perhaps a reason for the tugging of my sheets.

It did not take long though for my eyes to adapt to the dark and see something awfully wrong about this scenery. She seemed, thought bent, much too short to be my mother. Her body, much too wide. Messy hair, much too scarce on her head. She also appeared almost childlike, perhaps wearing my mother’s skin which dribbled from the sides, in an unfitting manner. She moved differently, shambling really, from side to side.

I laid mortally still.

She then proceeded to act out a series of irrational moves, as a child would when playing alone. She rolled around the room’s center, waved her hands about, jumped and waddled in some eerie manner. This was not my mother.

In the dark I recognized the shape of her face, and it indeed resembled her. While her eyes were smaller and mouth wider, transfusing into some sort of ghastly smile, she had the same face my mother did. Still, this could not have been her.

The thing ignored me, and continued its bizarre play at the center of my room for perhaps a few minutes, perhaps hours. I could not tell. The person captivated my senses, and time passed uncontrollably. In the brink of dawn, it retreated to my mother’s room. I dared not close my eyes after.

Several hours later, my mother came out of that same room, entirely herself, nothing out of the ordinary depicted her. She inquired my sleep, and offered breakfast. Everything went on as normal. My eyes still diluted in fear, followed her every move, expecting some grim outburst. Nothing happened. It took a while, but later through the day I started doubting my wakeness during the last night, and gradually convinced myself how the entire incident was a dream, a rotten one. The rain poured on for the rest of the day.

The night inevitably came close, and a known feeling of dread reminded me of it’s chilling grasp on my chest. I planned not to sleep. Mother was acting normal, throughout the day, and as she was my only company in the house for days, I rested easy in her presence. The fear of that intruder though, presumably posing as her, frightened me to no end.

The night finally crept in. Mother left to her room and closed the door, and I stayed in bed, awake. For several hours my vivid imagination tortured me in the darkness of the room, and I was already craving dawn. Slowly, as night went on, and hours passed, sleep came knocking to my eyelids. In my drowsy state, I somehow managed to convince myself, more for the sake of sleep than rational course of thought, that there will be no occurrence tonight. As my eyes betrayed me to the lure of slumber, I heard a door. The doorknob turned slowly, as if intentionally quiet.

I knew what was coming. Sleep now left me as if fleeing away from my mind, me, this room. As I became more awake, a strange loneliness engulfed me. Strange creature, bearing my mother’s skin chose not to walk but to crawl in, and so I could not see it on the floor until it came again, to the center of my room. The dancing and rolling started again. I pretended to be asleep once more. Everything was silent beyond reason, and even the noise she made while playing seemed somehow distant. I was terrified at the thought that my yesterday’s experience was not a dream. That it was as real as the bed I spent my days on. In the break of dawn the creature left.

And, as yesterday, mother came to me in the morning bearing breakfast. I foolishly decided not to confront her about any of this. The days repeated. Each night, the stubby version of my mother sneaked in my room and rolled around in a maddening ritual. I had no sleep in days.

On the fifth day, on the brink of my nerves, I decided I should leave my home. Go somewhere, anywhere. Around noon I went towards our apartment door. They were locked. I realized only then that we had no knob on this particular door. I feel as if I always knew that, and I was more astounded at the fact that I somehow seemed to have forgotten. Nevertheless, I could not open the doors; nor did I remember how did I open them in the past. When I strained my mind to actually think of the world beyond them, I stood baffled – I had no memory of it.

It appeared as if my mind betrayed me, and I decided that if I was to escape madness, I am to confront my nightly visitor.

And so I did. On the fifth night, I stayed awake as I did before. Late into the night, the door opened and the horrid being came in again. It started its bizarre ritual as it did many nights prior to this. Harvesting my strength, I prepared for the confrontation. Grisly thoughts befelled my mind – what will this creature do to me? I did not know and my ignorance frightened me. Fear of unknown they say, is the worst of fears.

I slowly lifted myself up in my bed, sitting on the edge. I dared not remove my dreadful eyes from my nightly companion. I faced its back, trying to gather strength and courage to make my presence known.

Slowly, its movement ceased.

It did not turn completely to face me, no. Its odd head tilted to the side and started turning towards me. Strangely, the little face I made out in the dark seemed saddened, frightened even. But I did not catch a moment to react to its expression – a macabric scream came forth from its lungs. It was my mother’s voice, I raised no doubt. She turned my way, in its stubby misshape, framing her terrified face with her malformed little hands, settling a grimace of despair on her visage. Her cry did not cede, it seemed an endless stream of shrieks was pouring from its lungs choking my every thought, freezing me in my moribund terror.

Very slowly, her scream turned to cry, similar to a child’s yet my old mother’s voice rang through clearly. It seemed frightened and sad beyond reason, focusing its strange beany eyes on me as if accusing of me something. I felt horrible guilt and regret this confrontation.

Suddenly, it reached in her night gown and pulled out a paper, raising it above her horrified head, as if mourning the loss of whatever was on it. Even in through the darkness of my chamber I recognized a drawing of the Sun. Big rounded circle, awkwardly drawn, with lines stretching out, representing light.

Her eyes were no longer upon me, it was as if she felt disappointed with me, she turned its childish gaze away, mourning the paper, weeping grisly cries. It cried for long, perhaps an hour, which is when I managed to convince myself to move my legs. I stood up and walked along the side of my bed, assessing her reaction. There was none.

This is where my mistake came and true nightmare began. I ran past my mother or whatever this being was, to the window. Pitch black night awaited me on the other side, or so I believed. Hastely I took a chair and smashed the glass, hoping for escape. It came to me how shutters were down, and to escape through the casement, I needed to lift them up. And so I did, revealing what seemed not like the outside of my yard, or even blinding darkness of the night. I gazed upon my room through the southern window. Confused rather than shocked, I stretched my arm through the broken glass, making sure my eyes were seeing truth. I felt the chair on the other side.

Escape seemed snatched away from me and in panic fear, I fled to my mother’s room. There I broke another window, finding what I feared. Exactly the same, with the same smell my mother bore, laid her room, mirroring this one. On the brink of madness, I jumped through, entering the same room. Through the doors, I charged in my own. Window was not broken and my sheets unsmirched. There was no light once I flickered the switch.

The creature followed, now silent. Its view fixed upon me, sad and and tearful she seemed to be expecting something from me. In my fear of no escape, I ignored her, and opened another window of this mirroring home of mine.

Another reproduction of my house awaited me.

I think it was here when I decided that I was trapped under some definite maze, that was made to resemble my tenement to the finest detail. For what reason, I did not ask nor cared.

I proceeded to destroy and open windows in random, passing through each one, disappointing every time I came upon yet another chamber, exactly like my own. I did not feel weary, thirst has forgotten me and hunger never reached me. Hours passed, and only my mind suffered as no progress was done.

My mother followed me, ever vigilant, not saying a word.

After what seemed like hours, maybe even days, it came to me that I was moving through complete dark, dark not caused by the closeness of space but by night. The dark one would see upon waking up in the middle of the night. Wasn’t the Sun supposed to have emerged? I went on.

Days passed, and my trail and travel seemed to have lost meaning. I tried not to think, to let go of all reason, and give in to the mechanics of my rampage through the windowed maze. Nothing changed. My mother followed.

Somewhere on my way I decided to look behind me, to see whether the trail of broken glass and opened windows was marking my path behind me. Little was I surprised to see all windows in perfect order, shut clear.

As I transpassed many more rooms and homes, vivid copies of my own, despair took over and left. Thoughts of taking my life came with it, but they too left soon after. Boredom took over, and left. Sadness. Gone. Time passed beyond the limit of my mind’s weariness. Hope however, seemed to have stayed.

Then, almost stealthily, a familiar feeling crept in my soul. The omnipresence of my mind in the room started overflowing me. I slowly became aware of everything in this place. Clearly, there was one thing missing, a picture next to the stove. I went to explore for it, to assure my eyes of my heart’s words. The wall next to the stove was empty, seemingly untouched. I venture through yet another window. Feeling was still there – here a pillow on the couch was gone missing. Next window. A pencil on the shelf. Next. A cup left on the kitchen table.

What did this mean?

My tortured mind gave no answers. I turned to the grim replica of my mother hoping for some answers, a hint of one perhaps. Each time I looked upon her such freezing fear and repugnance took over my mind, that I could not force words out of my throat. Once again, I looked at the paper of the Sun in her hand.

Was this a hint? Was this what she was mourning? The loss of Sun? Perhaps the Sun could break this barrier of nothingness and mirrors around me? Maybe this was it, maybe the Sun was what I needed to escape this never-ending nightmare? Suddenly, the image of my dream came to my notion, and with it a small sunflower in the corner, behind the shelf. My mind at its limit, decided how crucial this flower was for my success. I did not object. It suggested it was to be found in my original room, from where I came from. I complied. Thousands of rooms, perhaps weeks of walking were behind me. I cared little.

I went back through the last window I knew I opened before. I hopped in. There awaited my disfigured mother. But she also came behind me, through the window. Seeing the two of them, exactly the same, holding the same paper with saddened looks on their gruesome faces sent a wakening chill down my spine. I crashed through another window I knew I broke before. Two of those creatures awaited. Another two came through the window behind me. I felt discomfort.

Quickly did I go to break another window and pass through. Here however, I found nothing, and the four creatures behind me crept in as they would before. I realized I missed the window I previously went through, and if I was to trace back to the original room I had to follow my exact path back. I jumped back through the broken glass. There I was not so happy to see another four mothers coming out of the room, silent as death, making no sound. Four came behind me.

In almost panic I broke the window I knew was correct, but how long will my memory serve me I did not know. Eight mothers awaited in this room. Eight came behind me. A great party of these beings now surrounded me and I started to gain insight in my doom. Another window broken. An army awaited. The room crowded. I could no longer avoid being touched by their dead cold skin, so unfitting for their bodies. They however, took no action, and kept on following.

With tears running down my frozen cheeks I opened another window. Breaching through the crowd of ghastly creatures, trying not to touch their mangled shapes, I came to yet another window. Opened it but could not land a foot on the other side. Their numbers were now too great for me to go through.

I have been in this room for a time so long I cannot conceive. Here I wrote these words as well. Here I made up mind, to go through the next room, even by force. Never have I hurt one of these whelps before, but I may have to. This causes me unimaginable fear and tremor. What will happen then, I am unsure of. I will note it in this paper however. I hope I will. If I do not, there is one thing I feel obliged to ask of anyone, ever reading this paper.

“CORNERS OF FLOWER THE SUN WILL DEVOUR, YOUR MOTHER’S FORM A DANCE WILL PERFORM, TO SHIELD HER SON FROM HORRORS UNDONE”