Every nightfall, my heartbeat quickens. I no longer dare to close my eyes, because once I do, that sound will surge in—slow, inevitable, and suffocating. It comes from a faraway sea, deep and low, like an invisible tendril creeping into my mind. Every night, it seeps deeper into my consciousness, whispering to me.
I've thought about escaping—leaving this house, fleeing everything here, trying to find some kind of "cure" to wake myself from this endless nightmare. But every time I stand, that voice becomes heavier, closer. It comes from within me now, from the marrow of my bones, like some wet, decaying thing slowly devouring my thoughts and body.
I begin to wonder whether I've already lost myself. Each time I look into the mirror, my eyes blur, and the face staring back at me seems more and more distant. My skin no longer feels like mine—it's cold, slick, as though it's covered in some deep-sea substance. My fingers no longer belong to me. Every time I touch them, I feel a strange numbness, as though something alien is moving beneath my skin.
What disturbs me the most is the flesh. Its presence is like an invisible tentacle, always grasping my consciousness, never letting go. When I took it out of the freezer, it no longer resembled the piece of meat I had placed there. It was smoother, more moist, and even emitted a faint warmth, as though something was writhing on its surface. I no longer dare to touch it, but it calls to me relentlessly.
Each time I approach the flesh, my body reacts with a strange yearning, as though some invisible force pulls me toward it. It is no longer merely a piece of meat—it has become a parasitic entity, slowly devouring my mind and body.
That night, I stood before the fridge again, my gaze fixed on the flesh. It seemed to sense my presence, a subtle tremor rippling across its surface, like the heartbeat of some ancient creature. I dared not hesitate; I reached out, my hand trembling as I touched it. Warm, slick, like the flesh of something from the deep sea.
In that moment, all memories rushed back to me. The sound of the sea, the darkness of the deep, the endless tides, the tales I had heard in the village, the strange rituals—everything surfaced in a sudden flood. I remember that whisper, that voice. It came from the depths of the abyss, and it spoke to me:
"You are no longer you. You will become part of the abyss."
In that instant, I felt my body growing heavier, as if countless tendrils were writhing beneath my spine, enveloping my bones with soft, slippery substance. I felt myself slowly fading, becoming one with that presence from the deep. Everything that once belonged to me—my thoughts, memories, words—was rapidly being consumed.
I forced myself to open my eyes. The face in the mirror was no longer recognizable. My face had warped, blurred; my eyes were sunken, and my pupils were filled with the blackness of the sea. I was no longer myself. The person I once was had been swallowed by the abyss, leaving only this body—an empty vessel, now housing something alien.
But even so, I still feel a faint trace of existence within me. A deep terror, yet also a strange sense of release. I haven't been completely consumed—at least, not yet. There's still some part of me left.
I dare not think any further. I pick up the pen and write these words. Perhaps this is all I can do—remind myself that I have not yet lost everything. At least in these words, I can still see the person I once was.
But the call of the deep grows louder, the sound of the tides closer. I know that the day will come when I can no longer escape.
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