I have never dreamed of anything so large. Perfect black, sharp edged. Towering over the plain, sending pulsations through the land and air. I can hear a low hum coming from it, a chant even. I am drawn to it. I am terrified. It throbs once more and fills my body with vibrations attuning it with its rhythm. It feels like it is acknowledging my presence. It is here. I can not deny it. I can only go forth. Like a beacon it called me and I will answer its call.
The town is a vista of abandon, a handful of desolate houses growing out of the red desert sand. Shards and shell casings crunching under my boots. An unhinged saloon door knocking about in the wind. The faint sound of a fiddle, mingled with the stench of decay, wafting over from the veranda of a sick house. I can’t make out the player anywhere, but I feel eyes on my back. At the southern end of town a white sheet with flutters on the gable of a farmhouse, a memento of a wedding night I assume. I approach it, for it brings luck to touch the hem of such a relic while sending a short prayer heavenwards. As I come closer, I see those reddish spots are not bloodstains, but smeared red letters: It came through here. I fall into a fit of coughing and wipe my blood-speckled gloves on my poncho. I don’t have much time left. Before I leave the settlement behind I turn around to find multiple pairs of hollow eyes looking at me and the guns on my belt. One of them comes forward and places a few things in the sand: Some bullets, a scratched breathing mask and some kind of bone talisman. I accept their gifts, their plea, but the false hope that appears in their eyes makes me wish I had not. My mouth is too dry to speak and clear up their misconception. Without a word I turn around and march on.
Okay, I’m gonna tell you about the first time I met him and I don’t really care if you believe me or not. I was about ten years old and I woke up in the middle of the night. I had severe asthma back then and I often was awakened by my own heavy coughing, but this time something was different. I couldn’t sit up in my bed and I couldn’t cough either. I could only move my eyes, nothing else. I felt somebody’s presence like a physical thing in the semi-darkness. That was when I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eyes sitting in the far corner of my room. I tried to focus my view and I can still remember how that strained my eyes since I could not turn my head. There sat a man with dark violet skin smoking a cigar. He had a thick black moustache, a black suit, a black tie and black hair that was gelled back. He was quietly grinning at me and I instantly thought that there was something inherently wrong with his mouth. I felt like screaming, calling for my parents, but I couldn’t. I started to sweat intensely and tears began to blur my vision. He suddenly bent over to me, which should have been impossible, since he was sitting at the other end of the room. His face was nearly touching mine and his breath was burning my skin the way an ice-cold breeze does. I think I must have passed out soon after that, but before I did, I heard him whisper: “You are mine, my child.”
Tales from the abyss 