When I went to check up on him I found that he had barricaded himself in the room.

Two things struck me, the barricade was on the outside and we were the only ones there. The barricade was children's dolls, those strange ones from the early turn of the century, the ones with soft bodies and a smiling painted plastic face . They must have been 10 feet deep. I cannot conceive of how they got there. They weren't still either, they didn't twitch so much as they simple weren't inert, swaying in fourteen dimensions, it was like looking into the gulfs.

I could hear him behind the dolls, behind the door. Between his horrific sobbing there came a liquid rippling sound, a slight flutter and clicking. I could hear the furniture being smashed and thrown about. The hollow thuds on the wall, followed by sobbing and little growing clicking sounds.

Calling to him, I waited

I began pulling the dolls away from the door. At first, timidly, and then simply thrusting my arms into the wretched mass of krampus like abominations.

There actually was no door. The dolls were so dense that I just couldn't see into the room. The more I removed the more I saw.

Nothing was left. He put that room in a blender, debris was everywhere. Planks of a desk or a headboard or a bookcase were imbedded in the walls. A strange mechanical mark, like a lightning strike , creep over the walls to the corner. The windows were smashed and the glass shards seemed to reflect the entire room, like an insects eye.

I stood at the doorway, trying to make sense of the aftermath. The light showing through the window threw a sea like quality into the room. I could see every mote , every speck of dust. But, it wasn't the light. There was a thick quality to the room itself. I scanned the room, it didn't connect in my mind at first.

He was somehow, strangely, on the ceiling crouched in the corner. The presence of the room shifted ...

When he came down from the ceiling on his strange, clicking , insect like ribs and recomposed his body in this dimension the light in the room became overbearing


A sheen of an oil like substance coats me now. That greasy night time sweat when you wake up and the nightmare is still in your minds eye.

I turn the lamp on next to  my bed, I take a drink of the water.