A story of a failed writer. He has a dream of dark things and of a peculiar harp. The Harp begins to take over his life as he falls into darkness
This is it, I stand on the precipice. A world of darkness and fear lies behind me, hidden from the veil of reality. The rest of mankind run their shambolic, empty and fake lives. Scurrying to and fro, shopping, talking, laughing, drinking and whatever else. They don't know what I know. The terrible things I have seen, they move inexorably through their lives thinking they are free. They are wrong, ignorance is bliss they always say, how right they are.
The damage to my sanity is unbearable, every crack in the floor boards, every cough and every slammed door sends me wailing in pathetic, terrified agony. So now I stand between two horrors, staring downwards into the dark abyss below, they know who I am, I know what they are. The damn things are coming for me. Things from a twisted nightmare, I am doomed, doomed by a dream. Better to die now then let them take me.