#ent:0012

[1141520851813892291920]

ENT0012

RE: Dreams, hunger, and...libraries.

Apologies to anyone reading this if my words are...difficult to parse. It is difficult for me to write them. My compositional skills seems to have been affected strongly by whatever malaise I'm currently plagued with.

I feel...exhausted. My head is still throbbing. It's as though I've been hit with a full body migraine. It feels like I've just been on a bender - I haven't been hungover since uni, but this feeling is upsettingly close. The headache, the nausea, the stiffness in my joints and soreness in my muscles...the overwhelming sensation that you are just about to vomit but never do. I feel my eye twitching and my hands shake as I type this. No amount of hydration and pain medication seem to be effective. I'm tempted to rifle through Jon's medicine cabinet, I'm sure he has something to at least ease my symptoms a little bit.

Regardless -

As reluctant as I am to admit it, it would appear that Gerry is correct regarding the...altered state...I assume when I am...hungry.

It is the most delectable and destructive binge cycle, an addiction and craving that simultaneously drains and fulfills. And like all addictions, it leaves me starving for more. More and more and more, the hunger inside me demands I pursue and consume until my body cannot physically stand it, and even still it pushes and pushes pushes.

It was due to this craving that I found myself in the library - not the one I work at, but the public library. The staff there always is happy to see Jon, it seems, he is a staple there of sorts. Before, he would come in almost daily, chat with the staff, exchange book recommendations and petty gossip - I'm sure they wonder at "his" new less than sunny disposition. One of them asked after me, offered assistance and "anything I can do to help". That same employee was the one to greet me this visit, and I requested access to their own archive - typically a closed collection that requires staff supervision to access, and only by appointment. Jon, however, is apparently an exception to this rule; whether by virtue of his own position working with rare and special collections or a personal connection with library staff, I do not know. I am not going to question it too thoroughly though, as it got me the access I required.

The local library's archive is in the basement of the central branch, in a dark room with humming overhead fluorescent lighting and a concrete floor that is prone to flooding. The stacks are tall and close together - not the open and accessible structure of the stacks above - but claustrophobic and daunting. The books seem to watch you as you enter, and the feeling of being observed is enough to make you snap your neck for checking behind you constantly.

It is...a comforting, familiar feeling. I felt more relaxed in that moment than I have for a while now, knowing that whatever was Watching me, I was Watching it back. I felt the stacks welcome me, embrace me, coax me in with sweet whispers of long forgotten knowledge and like a moth to flame I followed, allowing it to consume me as I would soon be consuming it.

That is, unfortunately, the...last thing I clearly remember. The rest of the day was spent in a blur of crumbling old paper, the smell of ink and dust and blood, the furious and unbreakable feeding. The more books I devoured, the stronger I became, the more fervid and energized and demanding; from the darkest corners of this place I pried centuries old documents full of forgotten names and statements. I could feel their ghosts inside me, part of me now, revived by the despicable necromancy of remembrance. If I want, I can still hear their voices speaking to me, though it makes my headache worse.

I...am not sure how long I was there. I seem to have lost an entire day of time, if not longer. At some point I must've fallen asleep, as I remember the dreaming - the dreams of Watching those that have fed my hunger. I walked the corridors of a House that is not correct, I sat inside the suffocating toybox, I saw the colors shift and twist and laugh, I saw claws and teeth ripping flesh and running through the forest, I heard the buzzing of a million flies, I watched as the beast executed the immaculately strategized murder, and I watched as a familiar but strange face awoke me in the library so that I could Watch him, too, as he gave himself to the power that calls to him.

It wasn't until...sometime...this morning? Yesterday? I'm not entirely certain, but at some point, the friendly library staff member shook me awake, her face stern but concerned. She told me I had to leave, and I didn't resist, I don't think I could've, the state I was in. She had threatened to call emergency services, I apparently looked terrible. It seems as though the library staff believed me to have gone on some sort of drug induced bender - the kind that made me lose my mind and tear through the archives leaving a mess of paper and blood in my wake.

Today I received a letter in the mail informing me that I've been banned from all public library locations for a period of 3 months.

I think I've gotten everything I needed from there, though. After all...

I ate their entire Archive.

And it does not want leftovers.