The Desolate Guardians (15 page)

Had her whole thing… had our whole
connection… been fake? Am I just being paranoid? How would they
even know about my hallucination? Oh God, what if it's a cruel
trick? What if they read my posts and are messing with me?

What do you guys think? Am I just psyching
myself out for no reason? I hate this so much… I hate my brain,
hate my affliction, hate myself… why can't I just be normal?

---

Thanks for the support. I
am
kind of
freaking out, and you guys make me feel much better. Still a ton of
trolls here, though, please STFU…

Although I don't agree with the popular
sentiment here that going out and looking at the Moon to 'face my
fear' will help. I'm not going to do that. Ignoring my
hallucinations has always worked for me.

Hold on one second… another knock at the
door.

---

What the
hell?

I just got a visit from Crazy Donald. Guess
what, though?

He's fine.

He seems lucid.

He looked at me with a clear and direct gaze
that I've never seen from him before. He knew my name, too. I
opened the door, and he stared at me for a moment before saying,
"Alek - you're alright!"

"Yeah," I replied, confused. "Donald, are you
like - actually there?"

He nodded. "I'm feeling… better. Father
Abruzzo has stopped shouting at me." He tapped his head. "I think
he's finally forgiven me, after all these years."

"Father Abruzzo?" I asked, concerned.

Donald smiled and nodded. "My mother's
stopped scolding me, too." He breathed deep. "I'm feeling good,
man. And I don't know anyone else."

I stared at him. "No family?"

He shook his head. "Somewhere. Detroit, last
I can remember, before I, uh… before the screaming got so loud I
couldn't think."

"When was that?"

"I dunno, man. Black Sabbath is the last big
thing I can remember. Uh, Glenne Hughes was on vocals that
time."

I knew my metal trivia. "Their 1986 tour?
Shit, I think they played Detroit that year. You've been out of it
for
thirty years?
"

"Thirty years? What year is it now?"

I frowned. "2014. It's October, 2014."

"Damn," he replied, gruff and sad. "Can I
look in a mirror?"

"Sure," I told him.

He's in the bathroom crying right now.

I know how to handle this less than I knew
how to handle talking to Ashley. I've always sort of gotten along
with Crazy Donald - well, just Donald, now, I suppose - but I never
suspected that he was aware of me through the fog of his mania. I
can't just kick him out, either. Do I have to let him live here?
The thought of someone in my space, even if it's just for a bit,
makes me nervous.

This has been one hell of a night. I don't
think I can take much more emotional stress. I'm already fragile in
the best of circumstances, but tonight has been a trip. What do you
guys suggest? How should I handle this?

---

I didn't say anything to him. I didn't even
mention it to him. I'm terrified beyond all logic right now.

I stood outside the door and tried to calm
him down, the way some of you suggested. And you know what he said,
as he cried?

"
It's that damn burning Moon,
" he
complained. "
I'd rather go back to the screaming than find out
I've lost so much of my life.
"

I didn't say anything to him. I never told
him about the molten Moon. He said it, unprompted, and I nearly had
a panic attack.

It wasn't just my imagination - or, we'd had
the same hallucination.

"Donald," I remember saying very weakly. "Do
you remember having bad dreams recently?"

He immediately quieted. "I always have bad
dreams. My whole life has been a bad dream."

"I'm serious, Donald. In the last month -
have you had any particularly horrible nightmares?"

He breathed for a time, in between pathetic
sobs, and I heard him move a little on the bathroom floor. "Yeah.
Even with Father Abruzzo shouting at me and my mother hurting me, I
saw him standing there on the outside, trying to get in."

"Who?"

"
Him,
" he said cryptically. "The
Sleeper… the Dreamer On High. He's on the outside, looking in. He's
always looking in."

I felt a terrible chill at those words. I
didn't have a name for the shadow of impending doom I'd felt ever
since that night, but I did have a feeling: the sensation of being
watched. It felt just like Dean's presence had felt, like someone
was standing in the shadows at the back of the room and watching me
with fury and hunger. "Don… what did you mean when you said it was
the Moon?"

"I looked, man. I looked up at it… and it
looked down, into me."

That was all he would say. I left him to his
sobbing, figuring I could get more out of him after his first good
night's sleep in thirty years. I left him a blanket, too.

And, now, I'm left with a terrible
foreboding. There's a small pool of blood on my floor, and nobody
seems to share my hallucination that the Moon is on fire except
another crazy person. Still, I called my brother one last time.

"Will," I said to his voicemail. "Don't look
at the Moon. I don't know if you've looked - but don't! It's
important!"

I don't know what else to do. How
can
I know? How does anyone know what's real? If something's happening…
who would I even turn to? If it's not, how do I shake this waking
nightmare?

And why do so many of you keep insisting I go
outside and look at the Moon? I'm not finding this funny
anymore.

I have a text from Ashley… she wants to go on
our date
now
… which is way sooner than I expected, I guess,
but who knows? I gotta go… but I'll be back with more updates when
I can manage. Wish me luck, guys!

I'm not gonna let this get to me. I'm not
gonna let my issues get in the way of my life. Not this time…

***

It seems someone should have told Alek the
golden rule: never go on a date if you're living in a horror
novel.

The saga continues soon. Follow Alek's tale,
and others, at
MattDymerski.com
.