Written: Thursday. September 10, 2020.
It seems I've made a mistake.
I've been studying the dark arts since I was first introduced to it as a child. I've never understood what happened to me that day, but I always remember seeing something that looked like a person, but was as black as the blackest night could ever be, in broad daylight; and it was in the middle of a school day. I had seen this strange person walk up slowly towards the window glass. It's yellow eyes just looking at me--looking at my soul. And then it was gone the moment I blinked my eyes.
Nobody ever believed that story. It doesn't matter to me anymore, anyway. I know that if I was to figure out what really happened to me that day in school, I had to share my studies to no one. Not my parents, or best friends (like I had any), or even whisper to the pets that my father brought into the house every now and then. I say that, because my father frequently loses the dogs or the cats he brings in at home. I often would use them as test subjects for rituals I was trying to make, or like a sacrificial lamb whenever my mother's bread shop doesn't break-even for the month. We were a poor family, there's no sugar coating it. So sometimes, you have to do what is necessary. I never did think much of those creatures, anyway. They only seemed more interesting to me once I saw their innards.
Anyway, the mistake I made. I just found out this one ritual that could help me see things that are not of this world. It was simple enough to follow. The enchantment would lend me the eyes that could see through the ethereal plane. I needed this one, cause it was the closest I could get to finding out what lurks around that cannot be seen by the naked eye; by mere mortals who just spent their days fucking around with each other.
As I finished the ritual, I noticed something strange happen to me. It was a subtle thing, really. If I had paid all of my attention to the ritual I was making, I would have perfected it on the first try. But I made a slip, and now the spell backfired on me. What was supposedly a hex that could lend me the eyes to see through another realm, became a curse that gave me the ability to hear every demon, every ghost, and every inanimate thing, within twenty meters from where I stood.
I couldn't hear myself think as the curse started; couldn't begin to initiate a new ritual, because of the voices that bombarded my own psyche.
I am unable to drown it out--the constant arguments from one demon to another. The mundane conversations of a dead janitor and the principal who was there during his time. The endless screaming of chairs whenever an obese-type sat on it.
Such a shame.
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