Claviceps

From Nuishe's journal:

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DEAR GODS WHAT IS THAT THING

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i only wanted a drink of fresh water and there was a twisted mockery peering over my reflection’s shoulder

it’s me. it’s not me. it’s a ridgeback wearing my skin.

not my skin. it’s not right.

not the same.

not me.

The wings are wrong. The wings are all wrong and it’s just the tiniest bit wrong but I know it’s not me.

i can feel its breath on my neck as i write but my back is to the wall and i keep turning anyway and it’s not there it’s never there it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real

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It’s following me. I hear its footsteps a half second behind my own. It’s almost in time, but not quite.

Almost, but not quite.

Not quite.

It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

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I can’t sleep. I can hear it breathing.

Sometimes the breathing stops. In those moments, I swear that if I opened my eyes I would see its terrible face looming over mine.

Backlit by the mushrooms, crooked nose deep in shadow, the tiniest bit of light reflecting off its terrible bared teeth.

Make it stop. Dear Gladekeeper, please make it stop.

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A Ridgeback I can’t see. A Ridgeback in my reflection. A Ridgeback wearing my skin.

My nerves crawl at the thought. I’m suddenly itchy. Should I be itchy? It makes sense. It’s okay.

No, it’s not. It shouldn’t be this bad. I’m too itchy. This is scary. I’m scared.

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if it’s real there’s a monster following me. if there’s a monster following me I don’t know what it wants. it watches me and grins and I can’t see it but it’s with me and it’s real.

if it’s not real I’m hallucinating. if I’m hallucinating then my mind is failing and I can’t trust my own senses anymore. it doesn’t matter that it’s not real because I can’t tell what’s real anyway.

I don’t know which is more terrifying.

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I CAN SEE IT IT’S IN THE ROOM I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT

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woke up this morning and it was watching me from the corner of my room. grinning. grin too wide. teeth.

ridgebacks have many teeth. this one has too many teeth. the teeth are too long. it’s all wrong.

there are no eyes. sunken pits where it should be eyes. tiny pinprick of light follows me around.

doesn’t blink. i wish it had eyes.

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it looks almost comical in my clothes.

its glasses are askew on its grinning face. it doesn’t need them. there are no eyes.

its scarf hangs lifelessly from its grotesque twisted neck. it’s ragged and faded. it looks like it’s dead.

its vest is dusty with patches of mold. where did it find all of this?? it looks like it dug up that shirt from a grave.

It’s like it doesn’t know it’s wearing clothes at all. It’s like it’s just got old scraps of fabric draped over it, and it’s ignoring them.

where?? where did it get them??? why are they so beaten up?? did it have to leave me to put on my clothes?

when would it have left me? I would’ve noticed.

I hope I would’ve noticed.

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I don’t like that it has my book. Clothes are fine but the book is troubling.

Looking at that book makes me itch. I want to take it and see what's inside. Is it just a superficial copy? Just a mockup of what my journal looks like from the outside, with nothing but mold and sand beneath?

Or would I find my words? Or my words, but twisted somehow?

I... suppose that's a question I could ask about the creature itself.

If I were to crack it open, would I find nothing but mold and sand?

What other option is there?

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I tried talking to Cyathus about the monster following me around. He’s made monsters, even if he doesn’t know it. I thought he could help.

As soon as I opened my mouth to broach the subject, his whole body spasmed and the Mold King took over.

It grinned. It whispered at me through its borrowed teeth. It knew my name.

I felt the monster’s breath on the back of my neck, and I suddenly felt like a cornered rat. I scrambled away from them both. They watched me. They knew.

I’ve tried again and again. Every time it’s the same. Whenever I go to talk to someone – anyone – about the thing watching me, the Blight hears me instead.

It knows when I’m coming. It knows what I’m feeling. It knows my thoughts.

It’s in my head.

Am I…

…getting sick?

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I always pray to the Gladekeeper. Doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe she can’t hear me down here.

Maybe I need to change my tune. Maybe this is some kind of weird…test. A test of loyalty? Of mental fortitude?

No. It’s stupid and egotistical to think that all of this is somehow about me. I'm just a mad Wildclaw trapped in a maze full of Ridgebacks, one of which may or may not exist.

If this is a test, I’m throwing in the towel.

I call upon the Plaguebringer.

Mother Decay, help me survive.

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somehow it’s in rooms before I am. i walk into a room and it’s waiting for me in the far corner. grinning. staring. sunken pinprick eyes. glittery shiny teeth.

i walk across the corridor to another room, and now it’s in the corner of that room before me.

i turn around to check. is it in the room i just left too?

no. it's not.

i turn around again.

it’s an inch away, leering down at me with hollow not-eyes, showing its nightmare teeth, blocking the doorway, larger than life.

i run. i hear its footsteps a half second behind my own.

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