To Whom It May Concern...

No need for a wellness check, just tryin out the creepypasta style (trigger warning)

         Suicide was never something I thought I'd consider. It always seemed so silly, so selfish. I understand it's an illness for some, and that's different. I'm talking about those who simply give up because life fell apart. Ya know, those stock brokers who jump out the window when the market collapses, or the miserable bastard who drinks himself into an early grave out of self-pitty. Whether it be good, bad, or boring, I've always had a deep appreciation for life--I never thought that could be taken from me.

         Nature has always been the source of that appreciation. It's a great reminder that life is still wonderful even when you have nothing. Beautiful, simple, grounding--it's where I always went when life got too busy, chaotic, and stressful. Emphasis on the past tense, because go figure, that's where it started.

         Every year I take a solo hiking trip to get away and reconnect with myself. After nearly a decade of doing so, I've never run into a serious problem. This time didn't seem any different. At least, not until I explored a cave I found a little ways off trail. There was nothing odd about it; no strange writings, markings, or signs anyone had even been there. Yet, it felt distinctly inhabited. I tried to ignore the feeling I wasn't alone, and push it off as paranoia. I wish I hadn't.

         There wasn't much to the place so I didn't stay long; like I said, it was pretty unassuming for how creepy it felt. I'm not experienced with cave diving, so I turned around and left the moment it became too difficult to traverse. The burden of being watched lightened when I left the cave, but it didn't go away entirely. Again, I chalked it up to being nervous about being alone in the woods (even though that's exactly the feeling I wanted.)

         It didn't get bad again until I made camp and it got dark. I could've swore there was someone lurking around all night. But then again, I didn't actually hear anything, just felt it. I was eager to get going after that very restless night. As I hiked, I kept seeing things in the corner of my eye. I usually figured it was some wildlife, but usually it was nothing. Later in the day it occurred to me that I was actually seeing fewer birds and animals than I had the days prior. Something about that realization made the feeling of being followed worse.

         The next night was enough to make me cancel my trip. Everytime I'd even start to drift off, I'd have vivid dreams of someone walking around my camp. I could hear their footsteps, and see their shadow against my tent. Then I'd jolt awake, and there'd be nothing. This happened enough times to make the line between reality and dream blurry. The last time, I fell asleep enough to get locked in full paralysis. I didn't just hear it moving around, it came close enough for me to hear it breathing. It even unzipped my tent and just stood there.

         I couldn't even open my eyes. All I could do was lay there and listen. I had no way of knowing if what I was hearing was real or a dream. Eventually I must've passed out or fallen asleep, because I remember the wave of relief when I woke up to the morning sun unharmed. But my nightmare came crawling into reality when I saw my tent was actually unzipped.

         I've never hiked so fast in my life. I still had to stay out another night, but I refused to sleep, or even get comfortable enough to be tempted. I finally made it back to my car, and despite extreme exhaustion, managed to make it to a motel. Having people around helped; I slept undisturbed. After a good night's rest, I felt like I'd had some sort of mental fluke, and started to relax.

         Things were fairly normal for the first couple weeks after I got home. I was very eager to forget about what happened, so I did. Which is why I didn't make the connection when it started back up. At first, it wasn't like being watched or followed, but more like something was with me. Like there was another set of thoughts buried beneath my own, hiding in the shadow of my subconscious. This was quickly dismissed, and easily ignored; but looking back, that's where it started.

         Then I noticed changes in the life around me. My yard struggled to grow while everyone else's flourished--the grass was brown and thin even after rain. The neighbor's dog, who had always loved me, suddenly became territorial. Even my friends' pets started snubbing me; soon after, my friends did, too. My mother used to talk my ears off, but ever sense I got back from that trip, it's like I make her uncomfortable. I've asked why several times, but no one will give me an answer. Honestly, I'm not sure if they even know. It seems like they're acting on primitive reflex.

         It wasn't until I had another nightmare that it finally clicked. I'd dozed off watching a movie when I heard my roommate shuffling around the house. Then I remembered I don't have a roommate, and haven't in years. I tried to wake up, but it was just like the woods: all I could do was lay there and listen. In the moment I forgot all about what happened in the woods, and thought surely my house had been broken into and I was completely vulnerable. Whoever it was eventually stopped and stood right in front of me. They turned off the television and just stared at me.

         I was so certain I was about to be attacked or killed I managed to wake myself up. The sensation of awakening brought with it the relief that it was all a nightmare. Only for it to be immediately crushed when I was greeted by a pitch black room because the TV had actually been turned off.

         I would've cried in relief if I had turned on the light and found an armed robber. I probably wouldn't have even pressed charges. Instead, there was nothing. Every door and window was still shut and locked. But I wasn't alone, something was with me.

         Now the connection to what happened in the woods was unmistakable. It was back; or rather, it had never left. There was nothing I could do, so I just went on living--or at least I tried.

         My luck took a serious turn for the worse soon after. This is when those phantom thoughts started to stand out more. Every time something bad happened--flat tire, computer crashed without saving, something went missing--I could feel amusement contrasting my frustration. When I saw something tragic on the news, those phantom thoughts perked up and listened with longing. Anytime emotions got low, this thing got high.

         I knew something needed done, but I'm clueless about these matters. I was raised in a pragmatic family that didn't care much for religion or spirituality, and I didn't break form. Going mostly by what I'd seen on TV, I started with the church. None of the pastors or priests took my questions about literal spirits and demons seriously. I tried attending a variety of services and reading from different holy books, but all that seemed to do was bore it to sleep.

         Next I moved on to the spiritualists--they weren't much better. I wasted more time and money than I'd like to admit having my tarot and palms read. They didn't tell me anything more than what I already knew, and had nothing to do with whatever's following me. None of them even seemed to notice. I did notice sage smoke seems to agitate it. But it creates a rebound effect, and things get worse after, like it's trying to agitate me back.

         I thought I was making progress when I got in to see a reputable spiritual healer. She was booked six weeks out for appointments, which was inconvenient, but I thought reflected well on her legitimacy. As she moved her hands around my energy field, or whatever, I noticed those phantom thoughts getting angry and irritated. It was uncomfortable, but I took it as good news--something was finally working.

         But then she stopped mid-session. She explained she wouldn't be able to help, and that she needed to consult with some colleges first, but would call me with a referral to someone who could. After some profuse apologizing, she gave me a full refund and some store credit. The entire time she was rambling, apologizing, and ultimately rushing me out of her store, I couldn't help but notice she looked ill.

         Needless to say, that alone was enough to leave me rattled. I felt bad for the healer, too, I could tell by how irate the phantom thoughts had become that whatever it did wasn't pleasant. But as days passed and I never got that phone call, I started to get offended. Refund or not, that was unprofessional.

         When I went to her website to look up the number to call back, I saw an announcement that the medicine woman had passed away from a stroke. Of course, it was the night she'd seen me. Guilt still consumes me--I got that woman killed. I can't know that for certain, or find any way to prove it. The only evidence I have was the phantom sense of smug satisfaction lurking beneath my horror when I found out.

         I'm fairly certain this thing feeds on negative energy. The guilt of that woman's death added to the hopelessness of not knowing what to do dropped me into a depression that turned me into its personal power plant. The more my despair fed it, the worse it got, and the more vicious the circle became. My nights grew more restless, and nightmares more frequent. I started seeing things at the edge of my vision almost constantly. It seemed to get stronger as my mental health declined, and more things started going wrong.

         Naturally, I didn't keep my job long. The strain my bad luck had on my attendance wasn't enough, I had to get fired for stealing something I didn't take. I've had to settle for scraping by working third shifts at the gas station within walking distance of my house. I spend most of the night alone in that store, but never by myself. The good news is, sleeping during the day is easier. There's already people moving around, so it just blends in with the rest of the noise. However, the only way I've found to stop the nightmares is to get black-out drunk.

         That kicked the vicious circle into high gear. Eventually, the phantom thoughts turned outward, and my misfortune began to spread. The first time it happened, a man rode by me on his bike; I didn't think much of it, but I had a phantom thought about him falling off. Moments later, that's exactly what happened. I was shocked and concerned, but beneath my own emotions something found it hilarious--just like anytime something bad happened to me. I hoped it was a coincidence, but it kept happening. It got to a point that if I listened to those phantom thoughts carefully enough, I knew what misfortunes were about to befall people.

         What started as knocking people off bicycles and tearing grocery bags rapidly evolved into something legitimately dangerous. I'm terrified to use my car: I've witnessed two unrelated traffic accidents that total three serious injuries and one fatality. Something seems to break every-other time I turn it on. I've had more animals run out in front of me in the last few months than I have my entire life. The most recent of which was a family dog that broke away from its leash on a walk--the kids were watching.

         I can't see any of my friends or family for their own good. A grease fire nearly burned my friend's house down last time we hung out. When I visited my family for the holidays, my pregnant sister had a miscarriage a few days later. I want to tell myself it's not my fault, but the odds are too impossible. Luck this bad isn't possible--it's sabbatage. My life is being sucked out and used to ruin everyone else's. The last thing I want is to hurt the people I care about.

         So I began to isolate. I know it's bad for my health, but it's the only way to keep it away from people. But that just leaves me all alone with it--too much solitude makes the phantom thoughts aggressive and abusive. After a while, I feel the need to get out in hopes that it'll leave me alone if it has someone else to target. Then it does, and someone gets hurt because of me; then I feel like an awful person, and my guilt feeds it and makes it stronger.

         Around and around the spiral I go...

         I've lived with it the entire time and I don't even know what it is. It's always just out of view, it never even lets me get a good look. It doesn't want me to know, I think it likes keeping me on the verge of losing my mind. It's always when I'm on the cusp of thinking it's all in my head that something happens I can't explain.

         I spend all my free time obsessing over lore, myths, demonology, even fairy tales, anything that might give me a clue. So far, after almost two years of research, all I've learned is that humanity has no fuckin' idea what it's doin' with this shit. We're just shooting in the dark; I've spent all my ammunition, and missed every shot.

         Well, maybe not all my ammo. I've saved one bullet, so to speak.

         If the only thing I know about it is that it uses my energy to cause chaos, then the only way to stop it is to cut its power off at the source. I'm appalled it's come to this, but I see no other option. Even calling it "the cowards way out" doesn't deter me anymore. What's so cowardly about doing something terrifying to keep others safe? Isn't that courage? I'm not doing it to give up, I'm doing it to fight back--it's just the only way I know how.

         Although, it may very well be an excuse. Because if truth be told, I'm too exhausted to fight back any other way. I've tried everything from reading scriptures to Buddhist chants--it just laughs. I know the medicine woman was on to something before she died, but I'm too concerned it'll kill again to ask for help. Anything I try to do myself is met with enough push-back to make it clear I'm out of my league.

         Everything I try makes it laugh, it finds my ignorance hilarious. Religions are a joke, it pushes over my attempts at inner peace, but when I think of dragging it back to that cave it stops laughing. I thought it'd be thrilled I'd given up, it certainly doesn't mind if I die. I'm pretty sure that means it can move on to the next host. I think it's dying alone in the woods that trips it. I'm guessing if they're no people around, it's stuck where it's at. I don't actually know for sure, all I know is it doesn't find it as funny as I figured.

         That's the best lead I have. You'd figure I'd want more certainty it'll work since my life is on the line. But that's why I'm not so sure my "act of courage" excuse holds up, because even if it doesn't work, I'll still be done with it. I'm so tired, all I want is to get some rest--that's all that really matters to me.

         Excuse me for talking in circles; as you can imagine, I'm tempted to stall. I leave this letter as a warning. I have no idea how to stop it, no hint on how to avoid it, and I'm clueless as to what it even is. But it's out there, and it's dangerous, so be careful. Whether or not people believe me isn't my problem--I've done all I can.

         I can't imagine what it'll do to try and stop me. But even if the gun won't fire, the rope breaks, or my knife can't cut, I can at least crawl deep enough into that cave that there's no coming back out. Hopefully that means it can't either; either way, at least it'll be over.

         Despite the grim circumstances, I hope you'll wish me luck--this is what's best for everyone. May you find better luck in life than I did.