It Writhes

"It's been just over a year since I was designated, deigned to become more than but a man."

I never believed in anything beyond the mundane and temporal. I prioritised logical analysis and objective truth. It was in pursuit of truth that I took on a position of employment in my city's central library.

Working nights afforded me plentiful time to peruse scholarly articles at my discretion, and I ravenously devoured topics from science and metaphysics to religion and philosophy. I searched, with all the fervour of a man obsessed, for more and more knowledge. I was empty, and hungry, and knowledge became my soul perversion, for its own sake alone; I needed it all. The thing with knowledge, however, is that one is always trapped within the scope of their own understanding, arrogant in their position in the universe. That is, until the dam breaks.

It was on a temperate autumn night that I found that book, a seemingly innocuous text on Sumerian cultures and the modern cults that had adapted their teachings. It was a trivial little tome, and in my boredom, I deigned to humour it.

As I read, I felt my mood sour. Something in the text made me feel deeply uncomfortable, yet I could not stop reading. The atmosphere of the night mimicked my growing unease, the wind beginning to howl and thunder breaking somewhere distant. Had I not been feeling so unsettled, I may have chuckled at the cliché.

Time became irrelevant as I delved deeper, and at some point, an exhaustion that I had not noticed must have taken over. The exhaustion compelled me to sleep, and that was when the nightmares began.

I sat alone on an icy cold floor, a thin mist obscuring its precise appearance. My head felt as though it were splitting into a million fragments of broken glass, and my vision failed me. For what appeared like an eternity, my senses were scrambled and my lack of awareness drove me toward an instinctual panic.

Adrenaline brought me clarity, and steadying myself, I looked around. I was in a spacious, yet sparse, room constructed of what seemed to be some form of black stone. The stone appeared slick with some unknown moisture, and had an almost nacreous quality quite unlike anything I had ever seen.

As I stood, I realised that I was naked and, peculiarly, in a state of physical arousal. I idly drew my fingers along my shaft and grasped tightly. The walls of the room pulsated in tandem with my arousal and I could not help but to groan.

I fell to my knees, deeply ashamed of my actions, but compelled by some unknown force. I began to stroke upward and downward in a slow rhythm, gasping with exasperation at the depth of the physical pleasure that I felt. I had an unsettling feeling, like the walls themselves watched as I increased the rate of my masturbation, calling me, begging me to a climax.

I convulsed violently as my sense of self gave way to a powerful ejaculation that left my hands dripping with my emissions, and then I collapsed into total nothingness.

Upon waking, I was deeply shaken, and it took me a few moments to realise that I lay in a hospital bed. According to the doctor, I had been found in a comatose state in the library's spacious gardens, and had remained unconscious for a full week.

***

A month had passed since I was released from the hospital, and despite recurring nightmares of a lesser nature than the previous one, I had regained a semblance of normality in my daily life. Even so, I had been unable to return to work, to the library, to the source of my fear.

Just as I had begun to do away with the ominous feeling that something dark lay in my future, I was paid another visit, one that was to call into question my very place in the cosmos.

As before, I awoke in that enigmatic space, though there were some notable differences. I regained myself much more rapidly, and was able to stand with very little effort after only a minute or so. A cursory sweeping glance showed that the room had at least quadrupled in size, so much so that I could hardly see the walls, further exacerbated by the far greater presence of that ghostly mist. Still, I held the sense that they were there, ever present and watching.

Again, my hand was drawn to my arousal, hidden within the expanding mist, but it never made contact. Instead, something unseen crouched before me. My skin crawled with the realisation, and my every cell became as ice.

Lips surrounded my penis, slathering it in an overflowing mucus that revolted me as much as it pleased me. It dribbled down over my legs, pooling somewhere around my feet, and brought with it the sickening scent of rotten flesh and sweet lavender.

I pressed my hands to what I assumed to be this entity's head, and at first it felt as much like a hairless women in a thin film of some sticky substance, but the realisation dawned that its movements were wholly unnatural and not to be expected from a head that sat atop a body. I panicked and pushed back against the creature, but its putrid skin caved as if not supported by a skull, and it continued to pleasure me with unspeakable sensations.

Perhaps it had multiple analogues to a tongue, or perhaps something beyond imagination, but the repetitive suction and undulation drove me to a very quick and very hard finale.

I awoke sluggishly and groped around for my bedside clock. The light of the digital display made me very suddenly aware of the nausea that overwhelmed me, and I barely made it to the toilet before vomiting violently.

Sweating, I looked down at the contents of my toilet bowl and felt a bottomless sense of emptiness, as if a part of my very foundation had been stolen from me.

Stumbling back in to my bedroom amidst a maelstrom of spinning blurs and high contrasts, I steadied my thoughts. The encounter had felt far too real, more real than even the room that whirled around me.

I became increasingly aware of a growing discomfort in my loins and, trembling wildly, pulled down my sleep shorts. I could neither gasp nor blink, frozen in the moment. My entire groin was awash with purples, yellows and reds. It was a deep, violent bruise.

The weeks that followed my second encounter were a jumbled mess. I did not go outside, I stopped washing, trash piled up upon itself filling my small apartment with heinous smells. A deep black mould had begun to cultivate on the walls, spreading in greedily grasping patches, reminding me far too intimately of those dark confines in my nightmares. I rummaged mindlessly through maggot-infested food- more on instinct than actual desire to eat- for edible remnants of past meals.

In a deep fervour, I searched online for any sort of answer, for a simple explanation to what I had experienced. Particularly obsessed with one conspiracy website, I was transfixed on the details of cults that worshipped higher beings beyond the comprehension of mortals.

In one moment of deepest disassociation, I watched as a cockroach scuttled over my hand, up my arm and down over my body. Curiously, as it reached the rim of my boxers it fell dead to the floor, landing upon a pamphlet for my previous place of employment.

The library, the book that started all this. A sudden clarity empowered me as much as it horrified me; I would need to find that book again, I would need to return to the conception of my nightmares.

At some point that eluded all memory, I had covered my windows with cardboard so as to complete my solitude, and so stepping in to the cold night air was somewhat of a surprise. Despite my manic fervour, I was overcome with the sort of precise comprehension of time and place often granted by a brisk chill.

I walked the once-familiar pathways toward the library with a trepidation that bordered on outright adrenal terror, the sort that spurs locomotion at an increased pace. It took no longer than ten or fifteen minutes to make a typically twenty-five minute journey, and then I was there.

The silhouette of the main building stood ominously over me, like some shadowy creature emerging from the gardened grounds. I looked upon it, and I felt it stare back at me, in to my depths. I became clammy, and surely pale, awed in my own smallness before this mammoth structure.

Hastened from my hesitation, I took the steps two at a time and came to the main doors. Of course they were locked as the library was not open to the public at such a late hour. Furiously, I pounded at them, with no real plan should someone answer. I would have preferred that they had.

Becoming tired from my incessant pounding, I slumped forward, and in that very instant there was a dull clunk and the doors gave way to my weight. I was beyond fear, beyond self, and all that remained was my singular purpose.

I snaked through the rows of ancient texts, and the ceiling-high shelves that housed them, relying on sheer muscle memory to reach my location. My paranoia was only heightened by the very real sense that something followed me, toyed with me. It felt as though I were an ant, chased by the cruel rays of some child's magnifying glass.

Exhausted, I came to a stop. There it was, the arbiter of my descent, the book. I lunged forward and grasped its decaying edges with two hands. In simply lifting it, I felt resistance, unseen hands denying me my salvation.

With the last of my strength, I tore the book from the table and turned to run. A sudden and excruciating pain split my skull, the world around me fading away into so many tatters, and consciousness abandoned me.

I rose slowly, already knowing what I would see as my eyes opened. The black walls pulsated, covered in a new viscosity, revoltingly reminiscent of something disturbingly biological. Various holes, ranging from very small, to at least a foot in diameter, opened within the membrane of material. From each pit, thick grub-like growths perfectly fitted to each respective opening, thrust outward before retracting. With each retraction came a billow of that familiar mist, which fell heavier than it had before to barely obscure the floor.

The entire scene sickened me to my very core, and I dry-heaved hard enough to leave a lasting pain in my throat. The way that the larvae-like pistons pumped in a rhythmic chorus of whirs and hums evoked far too shameful a sense of my own masculine sexuality, contrasting against my body's physical arousal.

A far more intimate movement drew my attention, and I turned to look upon my sudden companion. It wore a feminine form, proportioned in a way as to be enticing. The rational part of my brain saw a nude women, with firm breasts and wide hips, but I could not deny the details that left me firmly uncomfortable. Its skin was as moonlight, with a slightly silvery or blue tint, and it seemed to be covered in a very thin film of mucous. Its bald head elongated a little too far at the back, and despite the hallmarks of a human face, the features seemed almost painted on to a flatter canvas. Thin incisions ran the length of its collarbone and opened and closed as if to allow breath. It- "She" was beyond words.

She approached me methodically with a seductive sway, and I was ashamed to admit that I felt a deep desire for her. I found myself meeting her approach with an outstretched hand, and she reacted in kind.

Her slightly-too cold fingers snaked around my wrist and drew me closer. With no pretence of formality, she guided my hand between her legs. My fingers inquisitively slipped between the dribbling folds of her cunt and I felt a hungry suction from within.

She pressed her body to mine, sandwiching my stiff cock between us. Her temperature varied from extremity to core, and I was a statue before her, frozen in fear despite my desperate desire for her.

She pulled my hand from her sinful opening with an audible slurp and brought it to rest upon her breast encouragingly. I mirrored it with my other hand and began to grope with all the confidence of a virgin.

Her lips parted to show only gums as she let forth a deep rattling groan. The sound pierced me and wrought me a slave, and I could not help but to give a little one in return.

I tensed as she reached between us and guided my cock in to that entrance that I so desired, and I was instantly overcome with pleasure. She tilted her head inquisitively, clearly scanning my expression for approval before beginning to slowly sheath my entirety, and then pulling back until I almost slipped loose. With each of those slow draws, my body shuddered, and were it not for some unseen force keeping me on my feet I would surely have fallen weak.

I groped with increasing aggression as she sped her vile undulations, and the flesh of her breasts gave way in a manner that was far too doughy.

Her lips became sharp angles at the corner in an uncomfortable uncanny grin, and a laughter that sounded reminiscent of television static gave me some measure of my actions. Her saturated, leaking inner walls kneaded and milked me in a way that made me spasm with ecstasy, but as I drew ever closer to my inevitable climax, I was suddenly overcome with a deeper instinctual need to escape.

I punched at her head, halfway between pleasure and fear, but the flesh absorbed each blow as though it were nothing. The laughter grew in volume in direct proportion to my struggle. As I pushed her back, I was drawn farther inside her, and a sense of hopelessness and dread became all too present.

In one final, desperate attempt to free myself from the architecture of the nightmare that she had crafted, I raised my hand to my mouth and bit down upon my thumb. The teeth tore through skin and bone, and I violently yanked my head backward to tear the digit from the tendon that held it in place. The pain was beyond any I had ever felt, but I was singular in the sense of victory that I felt at the creature's best analogy of a shocked scream.

I awoke with a start and sat bolt upright. I was in my bed, but had no idea how I had come to be there. Before I could begin to question the time, the pain in my hand made itself all too apparent. Throwing back the covers, I saw that my thumb was absent and the stump that had been left throbbed in agony. Blood still cascaded from the torn wound and had left a filthy puddle on my bedding. I panicked and leapt from the bed.

Frantically, I searched the room, though in my state I had no idea what for.

A chilling thought came to light as my eyes caught sight of stove top. I swept the rotten dishes from the counter and immediately set the electric plate to its highest heat. I pressed the wound down on to the red glow and let out a hideous screech. The flesh sizzled and scorched, knitted together as it cauterized.

Left weak from the crisis, I slumped to the floor. Amidst the smell of cooked flesh, I fell into a deep, uninvaded slumber.

***

Another few months passed, though I had lost track of time, surviving in a base animalistic state. I hadn't come to terms with my lesser dexterity, or the reality of my situation. I wanted to live a lie, but I couldn't escape what I had experienced. All I could do was to keep my brain silent with heavy medication. The questionable cocktail of pills I'd acquired from online served well to keep me awake for up to thirty hours at a time and heavily suppressed any dreams for the few hours that I did sleep.

I took to frantically flipping through the book that had somehow found itself in my possession, as if it had fixated and actively followed me from room to room. Although I barely read, I began to comprehend and feel. I felt the touch of madness, the hand of the chaotic cosmic entity that those long-dead cultists had worshipped as a god. Azk'atan-karosh. Vivid images flashed like a slide show through my near-empty mind, pondered at a deeper subconscious level.

The black mould covered every fixed surface of my apartment and seemed to whirr with a low-frequency resonance, casting spores that so resembled that chilling mist. Vermin infested every nook and cranny, and made for sufficient sustenance on the odd whim that I found myself remembering to eat. The smell of urine and faeces pervaded every inch of the air, though I had lost any ability to feel anything outside of the book.

My muscles had wasted away and my bones were visible through my starvation. My hair only remained in small clumps and my skin had taken on a pallid, yellowish quality. I adopted the odd habit of idly self-harming without even realising: pulling out teeth, tearing off my nails, or biting small chunks out of my rotting flesh.

Oftentimes, I'd find myself laughing maniacally as tears streamed from my eyes, for more hours than I'd care to admit.

I was but a barely animated mass of flesh and sinew, guided like a marionette by some unseen force.

As if in the blink of an eye, the time that had passed was as a fleeting dream.

I looked around my apartment, cognizant for the first time in a seeming era.

Apathetically, I noted that the mould had covered any means of exit, with not even the hint of a door in sight.

I walked to the bathroom and wiped the thick layer of grime and dust from the mirror and barely quirked a brow at my revolting appearance. As I watched my alien face, a thin smile crept over my features and I was rendered immobile in fits of laughter.

Finally, I understood. Finally, I knew that there was no escape, that I was but an insect in the true vastness of eternity. I knew all that remained for me to do.

I lay upon my filthy bed and drew an incredibly rusty razor-blade over my wrists. As my life-force bled from me, I rambled in tongues and felt spasms of sexual arousal spark in my cells.

Thick mist billowed from the walls and surrounded me. Thin, wire-like tendrils crept from within my mattress and pierced my skin, and entered through the wounds inlaid in my wrists. I felt the tendrils pump some foreign fluid into me and I groaned with the pleasure of the agony.

From the mist, my secret lover emerged, as beautiful and horrifying as our previous encounter. The same wire-like tendrils tethered her to the floor and lifted her to hover over my body.

She hung lower, her mouth gaping wide to let forth three bulbous tongues that toyed at my semi-erect cock. Squeezing and pleading, she sucked me toward full arousal before rising once more in to the air.

Her musty, filthy scent thrilled me as much as it repulsed me, and I had no further desire to deny anything of her perfection.

The tendrils carried her to straddle over me, and her viscous cunt drooled over my stiffness and left me slick. She lowered onto me, sheathing my entirety with her hungering folds.

Her voluptuous body bucked up and down, echoing sinful squelches with her dissonant moans. More so than before, I got a sense of her pleasure in my near-catatonic state.

Her breasts bounced as if they had no mass, and I struggled to unbind myself for long enough to grope at them. Her nipples puckered between my fingers, and opened to let forth small tongue-like protrusions to lap over my digits.

She rode me with more expertise and precision than any mortal woman I had ever known, casting me in to an abyss of ecstasy only contrasted by the wires that crept through my veins painfully.

Each time I drew close to climax, the tendrils split inside me and crept deeper, jolting me with a shock that brought me back to a base state. Again and again, I was drawn to the very edge, only to be internally torn back to begin anew.

As the time drew near for her to attain her reward, she pressed her mouth to mine and invaded it with her tongues in a kiss that mimicked passion and love. Beyond myself, I could only respond in kind and breathe deeply in to her breathless maw.

I was honoured as her body began to vibrate at a low rate, her torso steady, but her lower body rampantly bobbing toward whatever her equivalent of an orgasm was. A high screech cut the air and her thick juices gushed over my throbbing sex.