Shadows haunt the sinister tombstones just as a thick fog rolls over and envelops the graveyard. A peculiar man stands over a particular stone, staring at it with an intense gaze. He turns around to reveal a pale white complexion and eyes as dark as the yawning grave itself. Next to him, a ghostly soul tries to escape a painful death only to be sucked back into the vortex- a dark tornado of blood and grief. You think this is the ordinary tale of a reaper but alas this legend is of something darker than that- much darker. I tell the story of a presence that slays man and gives no reason to live. Horrendous nightmares torture his victims causing an unbearable pain to sear their minds. Few men are able to withstand his power - but even fewer can survive the agony without going through a terminal pain.

   I myself am one of the few victims who have survived but sadly I have no more desire to live. I shall tell my story and then walk away from the dreadful life I have been given. No more pain- no more anguish- no more misery. Oh, just the sound of freedom from my eternal curse provides me happiness- a certain blissfulness that my poor soul has not experienced for decades now. You must think- is death really a better option- one that excels over all others? Yes, my friend, it is. And very soon you too will feel the powerful and deadly effect that he has had on me. My very family has been massacred before my eyes, the love of my life, everyone I have ever cherished! But worst of all, I have been set off as a pariah, a man with no more reason to walk the earth as a human being. All of this suffering, because of a single moment- with Terror itself.

   Thunder delivered by a dark sky rattled my young bones as gusts of wind bullied the cargo that I was to deliver to my waiting mother- a basket of ripened fruit along with a small package of cigarettes. These items, of no value to any other person, continuously haunted my soul for they represented the very last memory of my darling mother. My pace quickened as I made my way through the dark alleys, etched with graffiti and the silhouettes of my frail body and my cart filled with the goods, both illuminated by a creepy streetlight. A cat, darker than the night itself, scampered along the asphalt road, making me shiver with fright. That sign alone should have made me run away; maybe my soul could have been spared if I did not continue onward to my destination. But not knowing what lied ahead other than a warm fire and shelter, I strolled on.
The trek across town was of difficulty on most days but the raging storm made the task almost impossible. My thin coat, tattered shirt, and ripped pants were no match for the pounding rain that drowned my clothing, chilling me to the bone. Clouds covered the protective moonlight providing me no safety from the countless horrors waiting for me--watching me. The occasional lightning bolt streaked across the heavens giving me but a moment of precious light. Sometimes I would spot a figure, a pale face in the distance although no sooner had I looked, it was gone. A simple hallucination in the past, a horrifying reality in the present.

   My single, wooden shelter stood in the distance, buckling underneath the immense pressure of the rain and the wind but stood firmly, anchored to the sandy soil. The eerie glow of a dim candlelight flickered by the nearest of the two windows to the door. Without warning, a streak of white toppled my cart and I onto the grassy landscape. Oddly enough, the force disappeared into thin air. To quell my fear, I dismissed this occurrence as a field animal lost in the unpleasant storm. As I collected myself, I discovered a somewhat peculiar sight; the iridescent light in the window had been extinguished- but by whom? Certainly not mother for she despised the dark more than any other thing in the world.   

   As I trudged, steadily into the small cabin, uneasiness rippled inside of me- a certain fear of what was to come in the near future. My hand searched for the doorknob, a cold, brass bump on the smooth wooden door, and grasped it firmly. Little by little, bit by bit, my hand rotated in a clockwise direction to prevent noise yet the rusty hinges gave away my stealthy entrance. I peeked into the room and the very last image I had of my mother was of a silver sword piercing her stomach. The scene was gruesome- entirely indescribable- and thus far has haunted me. All in a fleeting moment, a terrible force slaughtered my mother, my dearest mother in front of my youthful eyes.

   Only now do I ease my burden- my pain- and rest with my mother for eternity in an infinite, unforgiving darkness. Entirely because of a single moment, I surrendered my spirit to a dark void- into a yawning grave.