The Dark Somnium - Has anyone else seen that The Moon is on fire?

Episode Date: December 19, 2023

This Creepypasta scary story is from the nosleep subreddit, written by Matt Dimerski, make sure to check out the original story and support the author: "Has anyone else seen that The Moon is on fire?" https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2tsl9q/am_i_the_only_one_that_sees_that_the_moon_is_on/Special thanks to @DusklightRadio @RomNex and @SpiritVoices for joining me in this video! Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

I know this might be an odd question to ask on a mental health form, but does anyone else see that the moon is on fire? I'm not joking. I'll run through this for a second. I know I'm not the most reliable person, but I don't think I could imagine something like this. I remember the entire lead-up to what happened. People were freaking out. It was the end of the world by all anybody knew. What did they call it?

An unidentified object at near luminous speed? That's what the media said. over and over for like the day and a half we had until it hit. I guess that meant it was going really fast, fast enough to destroy all life on the planet anyway. That was the part nobody understood. They said something had to have created this object and aimed it at us. It was unlike anything natural they'd ever seen.

They said something had probably shot this at us a billion years ago, probably aiming to wipe out the competition before it evolved, aiming to wipe us out before we were anything more than barely living goo. But apparently it had been sent out, hold on, let me check my scribblings about what they said, between 4.54 and 4.57 billion years ago, because whoever had shot it at us hadn't taken the moon into account. They couldn't have, because it didn't exist then. Miraculously, the timing was just right, and it hit the moon instead. I remember the noise and the flash. How could I forget? Absolutely everyone was outside, watching and listening, thinking the world was about to end.

But it was daytime here, and the moon was on the other side of the planet. We only saw the edges of the blast spraying up past the horizon. A sprawling cloud of flame and glowing dust erupted across the sky as I stood on the street among dozens of neighbors I didn't know. Well, I knew Crazy Donald, a homeless guy who I sat with sometimes outside Wendy's. He was there, muttering to himself and holding a plastic bag filled with plastic bags. But I don't think he knew anything was going on. He was just going around asking people for change, even before we knew that we were going

to live for another day. I like him, because he and I get along, in a quiet and lonely sort of way. I followed him around and made sure he was safe as the crowd grew confused, excited, and loud, scaring him. The radios came alive and said we should probably. stay inside for the next few days. We didn't need to be told twice. I urged Donald to move along to somewhere safe, and then I hid in my apartment.

The parties were absolutely insane. From what I could hear through the walls, I imagined the people were amazed at being alive, and since they had nowhere to go until the all clear, it was party time. Me? I keep to myself mostly. See, that's why I'm asking. I remember all this very vividly. I could have sworn it was real.

Thing is, even despite the pills, I have a tough time with reality. I can feel the rippling waters of dreaming while I'm awake. Often, I can't distinguish between the cold, hard lines of the real world and half-formed concepts of waking imagination. I don't want to have my dosage up again, because the pills make my brain feel like cement, so I pretend. I'm not crazy. I don't mutter to myself or attack people. My thoughts are all still there, my faculties, as my brother Will calls them.

So I force myself to behave normally when I see something I don't understand, and I use logic to control what I do. I like music. Songs keep me grounded, because they float through the air like mathematical chains. The songs that I know, I know by heart, and I know I'm solid as long as the notes keep making sense. I'm listening to Man on the Silver Mountain right now, trying to keep coherent. but the strategy doesn't help memories of my hallucinations. Is it a hallucination? I ask, because the media coverage of the molten moon dropped off pretty quickly over the last week. I mean, there's a massive cloud of glowing dust and flaming gases spreading across the sky

like somebody thrust a burning spear straight through the moon, because that's what happened, and nobody seems to care. Today, I can't even find any mention of it. All the videos and pictures are gone. I can't find the articles anymore. It's been too cloudy here to see it myself, and I don't have any windows in my basement apartment, but I've ventured out a few times to look up. I still see the orange glow, like a smeared second sun behind the clouds.

I have to wonder, why the hell isn't anyone talking about this anymore? Has our attention span really gotten that short? Are we right back to the next reality television show and celebrity gossip already? A weird thing happened when I ran into the next door neighbor, Dean. I normally avoid him, like I avoid everyone, but this time was different. Hey, Alec. He said, smiling at me in the hall. Why would anyone smile at me?

Grubby, unshaven, wearing a mega death t-shirt. I was the epitome of that guy you ignore who was fine with being ignored. I would have said hello back and moved on quickly, but I had a question myself this time. How about that sky? Yeah? He asked, studying my face, tall, blonde, and good-looking in that annoying Abercrombie sort of way. He had no reason to so much as look at me. I wondered why he was even talking to me.

What about it? I remember frowning slightly. Something seemed off about his interest. I wasn't about to make a huge social blunder and mention the sky was on fire if I was just hallucinating the whole thing either. That crappy weather's blocking the view. He smiled at that. Yes. It's quite unfortunate.

I nodded, laughed sheepishly, and hurried down the stairwell. I think he stood there watching me until I closed the door. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that he didn't remember that the moon was on fire. If I were a normal person, that's the first and only thing that would have been on my mind. Hey, remember that time the moon freaking exploded? Yeah, me too, since it was last week, and because half the goddamn sky is still on fire. Every couple of hours, for several days, I'd go outside, but I kept missing the sight due to the cloudy winter weather. From the pictures I remembered seeing, the moon was a molten coin burning in between two jutting clouds,

almost like a fiery eye, and I wanted to see it for myself. If I could just see it, if I could just stare at it for a time, I could finally convince myself one way or the other. I was becoming pretty certain that the moon would just be the same old silver dollar it had always been. Thing is, I thought I'd gotten a pretty good handle on my issues. If I've just imagined the entire thing, then I'm in serious mental trouble. I left a few messages for my brother, but he hasn't called me back yet. I even texted my younger sister, Laura, on the excuse that I just wanted to see how she was doing. She didn't respond either.

No surprise, though. Dad's probably passed out drunk right about now. I might call Tracy if I get any worse, although I wouldn't know what to say to her, really. She's probably busy taking care of Dad's mess anyway. I don't know. I'm sure I'll get over this. I just don't want to have to go to my doctor. Show up my meds again and then I'll be a zombie.

Thanks for the responses, although now I'm just more confused. Some of you say the moon isn't on fire and to go look for myself. And some of you are just trolling and say the moon is on fire. I hope the mods ban you. This isn't a place to make fun of people. Some of you have asked about Will before. Yeah, he listens to me. He's the only family I have that takes me seriously at all.

I think he considers it his duty as an older brother. He takes care of Laura, too, although she's got a good head on her shoulders, mostly. I don't think Will would have to do nearly as much if Dad got a job or stopped drinking. Tracy's nice and all, but we're not her kids and not her responsibility. But even Will isn't really returning my calls anymore. Not after that incident I posted about last month. He got mad that I woke him up in the middle of the night for a dream I had while I was sleeping. Waking hallucinations were one thing, he said, but dreams where I was asleep were perfectly normal,

and I had to deal with them on my own. He didn't seem to care how traumatic or horrifying the dream was. I mean, I can't blame him. I'm sure, on balance, he's done so much for me, and I've done very little for him, but I've had a terrible sense of impending doom. ever since that night. I think about the kinetic tear I felt, and I still can't shake it. The tough part for me is that my dreams seep into my real life.

Like right now, I feel like I'm being watched. I'm looking up, and there's a small mirror to the top right of my laptop. I can't look away, even as I type, or am I looking away and just believing that I'm looking at the mirror? I keep looking deeper and deeper, seeing further into the apartment behind me and a sense of tension pulls at me. A building scream to come that keeps rising to higher and higher intensity. I already see it. I already sense it. But I'm not consciously aware of what it is. Not yet. A grenade goes off inside me, throwing terror and adrenaline in a thousand conflicting directions

within the confines of my chest and limbs. He's there, standing there in the shadows, watching me with hatred and intent. He sees me. He sees that I see him. and he stalks forward, approaching me from behind, but he's not there. He can't possibly be there. Why would Dean be in my apartment? I have to sit still, breathe deep, and... Oh my God, I don't know what to do. I think I killed Dean, but I had to.

I had to. I have to make sense of this. I have to figure this out, step by step. I wasn't listening to music, or I would have known that he was really there. Or was he? Is he? Is he really on my floor, bleeding from the head? So secure in the matrix of logic I usually keep myself in, I was certain he wasn't really there.

I kept believing that, even as the fear surged up right behind me, and he grabbed me around the neck. He was trying to drag me towards the door. That's all I could tell. He didn't say a word. I don't know how I got out of his grip, except by going limp and flopping down at a lucky moment. He then lunged at me. I scrambled away, pulled a lamp down, and threw it at his face. A couple of bits of shattered light bulbs stuck out from his cheek, but he kept coming, furious.

He tried to tackle me, but I slipped and fell out of the way, and he smashed sideways onto my table. I used this moment of disorientation to lift my printer and bring it down on his head. He fell and stopped moving. What did I do? What did I do? My condition, my pills would make me out to be a lunatic. Would they lock me up for? this? It was in my own apartment, sure, but they'd just say I invited him inside. Wait, did I? Did I ask him to come look at something? Did I then attack him? If I'm hallucinating things again, how can I know what's real? I've always hated him, hated his niceness. I always thought there was a smug arrogance behind it, even if he never showed it. I couldn't call the police, could I? But I did. I had to. This wasn't some movie.

I couldn't hide the body or any such nonsense. Besides, that would just look worse. So I called. The first thing the cop on the other end asked me was my location. He was very insistent on knowing where I was, even before I'd mentioned what I'd done. Something about his energy spooked me, and I hung up before giving any identifying information. God damn it, Will, where are you? He's moving.

Dean's moving. Thanks for all the replies. Yes, Dean was alive, just on conversation. conscious. He woke up, staggered to his feet, and mumbled an apology. It was the weirdest thing ever. No, he didn't explain what the hell he'd been doing. He just seemed confused more than anything. He did say... That was really stupid of me. I'm sorry. About 20 minutes after he stumbled out, through the wall, I thought I heard somebody berating him in his apartment.

Now I'm more confused than ever. I don't understand what he was trying to do. It's satisfying, though. So, hearing someone shout at him for being an asshole and an idiot. Yeah, I know, right? If I didn't have my own issues, I'd call the police on him myself for breaking and entering. Sometimes mental problems make you feel like an outcast. You don't get to call the police. You don't get to ask for help. If there's a problem, you're the one in trouble.

It's one of the reasons I don't leave my apartment much. Do you ever feel like that? I just had the oddest experience. A girl came by, Dean's girlfriend, and asked, if I wanted to take a walk, she wanted to apologize and explain what happened, so that I wouldn't press charges. I guess she had no idea I was terrified of interacting with the cops. She was like Dean, thin, blonde, perky like a fashion magazine model.

I hated her immediately, even though she sort of reminded me of my sister. Fine, I said, and locked my apartment door. The first thing that hit me, aside from the cold night air, was the blazing orange. casting everything in eerie burnt colors. The weather had cleared up. Immediately I could sense the molten moon and blazing veil above, but I avoided looking at it. It wasn't real, and I wasn't going to give in to my waking nightmares.

Nice night out, isn't it? She said, oblivious to the burning sky. She walked beside me as we circled the neighborhood. Look, I'll be honest with you. Dean's kind of a controlling asshole. He's never been. violent before, but I think he got the idea that something's going on between you and me. What? I laughed, the last note rising awkwardly high. I don't think we've ever spoken.

No, we haven't. But I saw you in the hall last week and mentioned that I used to date dirty grunge types, you know, metal. I suddenly felt very warm, and I'm sure my face was red to someone who saw a silver moonlight instead of orange. You did? Yep. He's not really my type. Crazy, right? Since we both look like we belong in an old Navy ad. You said it, not me. Did I actually just make a joke? I don't think I've ever gotten this many seconds into a conversation with a pretty girl. And she actually laughed out loud. I know, I know. When I dress and act like this, I know what I'm doing. Call it an experiment. If we're being honest, I had to get away from the drugs. I love me some Mega Death and Dio, but the scene.

Wait, what? I asked, surprised. Those are my two favorite bands right now. She blinked. Really? I didn't think anyone our age liked the classic stuff still. I opened my jacket and showed her my t-shirt. No friggin' way.

She said with a smile. Well, it's nice to meet you. She held out her hand. Alec. I said, shake her. her hand and marveling at my own ability to actually hold a human conversation. I didn't feel numb, her terrified. I just felt normal.

It's short for Alexander. Alexander. She said, smiling. I'm Ashley. She looked up at the sky for a moment, but I did not follow her gaze. Beautiful night out. I still didn't look. I didn't want to face the flaming hallucination that was so intently trying to ruin my first

real connection with someone else in a long time. How about this? She continued for a moment, finally looking back at me. I'm done with Dean either way. He's such an asshole. But I honestly believe it's a one-time thing from him. If you don't press charges, I'll go on a date with you. That part finally broke my scant coolness and made me clam up.

I'd seen that moment enough times on television that I knew to force myself to say one word. Sure. I think she mistook my terseness for aloof confidence, A genuine and warm smile crossed her face, and she took my cell phone and put her number in it. Ten minutes later, I'm back in my apartment and more shocked than when I thought I'd killed Dean. Now, here's the part where I need some help from you. I know I'm posting a ton tonight, and I'm sorry.

I just... It's so hard to tell what's real. I keep looking back on it and obsessing over our little walk. I can't help but feel she was trying to get me to look at the sky. Little details like her choice to talk to me. outside, her long pauses to look over at the moon, and Dean had been trying to drag me to the door. Had her whole thing, had our whole conversation been fake?

Am I just being paranoid? How would they even know about my hallucination? What if it's a cruel trick? What if they read my posts and are messing with me? What do you think? Am I just psyching myself out for no reason? I hate this so much. I hate my brain.

I hate my affliction. I hate myself. Why can't I just be normal? Thank you for the support. I am kind of freaking out. And you all make me feel much better. Still tons of trolls here, though, so please shut the hell up. 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'd never seen from him before. He knew my name, too. I opened the door, and he stared at me for a moment before saying, Alec, you're all right.

Yeah, I replied, confused. Donald, are you like actually here? He nodded. I'm feeling better. Father Abruzzo 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 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 don't know, man. Black Sabbath is the last big thing I can remember. Glenn Hughes is 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 40 years? 40 years? What year is it now? I frowned. 2003. It's October, 2003. 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 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 same way you all suggested. And you know what he said as he cried? It's that damn burning moon. I'd rather go back to the screaming that find out I lost so much in 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 impendent. 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. Dawn, 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 sleep in 40 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 hallucinations

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 happens, 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 to text Ashley. She wants to go on our date now, which is way sooner than I expected, I guess. but who knows.

I got to go, but I'll be back with more updates when I can manage. Wish me luck. I'm not going to let this get to me. I'm not going to let my issues get in the way of my life. Not this time. As I was getting ready, I saw some of the replies. Many of you advised that I should secretly record my date if I could, and, well, I gave into the paranoia.

For the first time in my life, I'm glad I did. It was already getting late by the time I managed to shave, a shower, and shower, and fix my hair up the best I knew how. She drove, and I tried to make small talk. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. She didn't seem to mind my awkwardness, and she took us to a nearby bar that she said was a favorite of hers. I don't drink, ever.

My doctor had mentioned the alcohol might interfere with my antipsychotic medications, and I've been fearful ever since. Still, I was determined to not let my issues run my life. I ordered a beer and pretended that it was something. I did all the time. I wasn't sure if she noticed my shaking hands, but I clenched my fingers together and put on a calm face. I said stuff, and she laughed.

I didn't get it. Nobody had ever thought my sarcastic and bitter comments were funny before. I'd always just been that weird guy on the fringe. Why was this girl even talking to me? It just didn't make sense. And that's when your comments started getting to me. I just couldn't believe that I was interesting or attractive to anyone. So, I left my phone at the bar, set it to record audio, and I said I was going to the bathroom.

I did stay in there quite a bit longer than I wanted to, but I was afraid to come back out. What if she noticed that I'd set my phone to record? What if? I shook my head, messed with my hair a little in the mirror, and then finally went back out. Everything seemed normal. She sat at the bar, checking her phone. I used that opportunity to pick up my phone and pretend to do the same. Oh, a voicemail.

One second. I walked away and listened to the recording. I heard myself making a small excuse and walking away. A moment later, I heard her ask someone. How are you liking the weather? A voice I recognized as the bartenders followed. It's fine. Their reactions were odd.

It sounded as if there was some sort of hidden meaning to the exchange, but that the two were unsure of one another. I looked over and noticed the bartender watching me. I hurriedly glanced away. The recording wasn't much, but something about it felt off. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. But I was on a date, and I was still determined to not let my paranoia get the best of me. Even as I began to put my phone down, the last of the recording captured one more uttered sentence. He's never going to look, damn it.

Had I really just heard that? Was my mind playing tricks on me again? Feeling heady, I lowered the phone. Everything all right? She asked. Yeah, I just forgot about something I have to get back to a friend. I lied. I put on a happy face and pretended like I hadn't heard anything.

And had I? Really? I could feel ripples in my awareness as if I was half dreaming, but I knew that I was awake. It was a familiar and typically disconcerting sensation, and I hated that it was happening now of all times. Saying that I needed some air for a second, I stepped outside. Thankfully, nobody was out front smoking at the moment. I clutched my head and tried to breathe in some sense.

The sidewalk beneath my feet seemed cast and burnt orange. God, why did I have to be like this? Why did I have to suspect everything? Why did I have to see and hear things that weren't there? Feeling a rather strong bout of paranoia, an idea occurred to me. Going back inside, I sat down and put on a neutral face. I just looked at the moon. It's gorgeous tonight. She hesitated in the middle of a sip of her drink and lowered it slowly. She watched me intently. Her eyes and expression carefully balanced.

Is it now? I had the distinct impression that she wasn't sure whether to believe me. Why would that matter if I was just talking about the moon? What's it like? She asked. I imagined I heard a subtext of interrogation beneath her nonchalant question. I hadn't thought the idea through that. this far. But what if everything was fine? I'd sound like a weird asshole if I said what I really knew was up there. A full, very bright silver. She locked gazes with me for a very long moment,

but I had years of practice faking that I was fine. At long last, she sighed. I thought you'd never look. A blast of panic tore through me, but my practiced fake calm kept me in place. I wanted to scream. What did you just say? Instead, I nodded, gave a weak laugh, and picked up my drink. So, what now? I guess we wait. She replied, leaning against the bar. It's tough, you know.

Can't be certain about anyone these days. I nodded again and took a long gulp of beer, trying to understand what was happening. I couldn't be hallucinating this entire conversation, could I? And I couldn't ask questions without exposing the fact that I was, what? That I was myself? Or that I hadn't actually looked at the moon? The bartender came over. and slid me another drink as I nervously finished mine.

I went to offer him some cash, but he shook his head. I couldn't help it over here. I wasn't sure, but I suspected it. Now I know. First one's on me. Welcome to the club. Here's one for the lady, too. Ashley smiled at him.

Thanks. I took a moment to text my brother my location and a message. Please help. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I don't know what's going on. There are people here acting strangely. I don't know if they're messing with me or what. Don't you know it's rude to text during a date?

Ashley said, and I sheepishly dropped the phone. I could do nothing but act normal. Past the initial weirdness, nothing else strange seemed to be happening. Waffling back and forth between terror and self-doubt, I did my best to keep up our prior level of conversation. After an hour or two of drinking and hanging out, I started to doubt I'd ever seen or heard anything. strange. In fact, I was glad I'd ignored the few odd sentences I thought I'd heard from

Ashley and the bartender. Alcohol did, indeed, make me feel weird. Was it interfering with my medication? Or did alcohol just naturally make people red-faced aloud and stupid? I knew I was starting to behave oddly, and I was actively trying to reel myself in. Still, she noticed. Okay, time to get you home. You don't drink much, do you? I shook my head. Good. I'm glad. Dean's an asshole when he drinks.

She helped me up and led us outside. This time, three guys and a girl stood outside smoking. We crossed the street, heading to the car, and she looked up as we got to the opposite corner. She sighed and smiled. Isn't he beautiful? I froze. Did she mean the moon? There was no helping it.

It only took a moment. She knew I was purposely avoiding looking. She backed away a step. You lied. She looked across the street at the smokers, and I guess she was judging whether she could trust them. She half shouted something, but then changed her mind mid-sentence. If there were other people in the know with whatever she was doing,

was it possible that she didn't know who they were? She couldn't scream for help in that regard, so instead she shouted something much worse. Help! This creep is attacking me! What? I screamed back. It was my worst nightmare. to have my awkward interactions misinterpreted as threatening.

But, wait, that wasn't what was happening here. No, no, I'm not. Immediately, the three guys across the street frowned, assessed her fear, then charged in my direction. I ran, but they were faster than me, and one took me down from behind with a wide gripping arm. I hit the sidewalk roughly, barely keeping my face from slamming into concrete, and they rolled me over. I remember holding up my arms, feebly trying to keep punches from leg, landing somewhere critical, but one did manage to leave a horrible pain in my eye socket.

I was certain I'd have a black eye if they didn't just kill me. But someone tore them off, shouting at them at the top of his lungs, pushing and shoving them away. He kneeled next to me and helped me sit up. I'm not proud of it, but I did cry. There was blood and bruising all over me, and my date had turned horrible in all the ways I feared most. What if I'd really attacked her? I couldn't believe anything. Not with the alcohol messing with my head.

Alec, Christ! Came the Savior voice from above. What the hell's going on? Will? I couldn't believe it. He'd actually come. I'm really confused, and she made me drink, but don't look at the moon. Something's going on.

He sighed and went to lift his head, but I covered his face with my hand. Don't look, Will. This isn't a joke. Remember how you said I had three promises I could ask you, as a brother? Yeah? Well, I've got two left, and I want to use one. for this. Don't look at the moon. I can't explain why, because it would sound crazy, even for me. If it's that important to you, fine. It probably hurt to look anyways, since it's still burning so

brightly. It's what? I asked, stunned out of my pain days. The moon's on fire? Of course it is, he replied, confused. Did you somehow miss all the craziness? I couldn't talk anymore after that. I was too overcome by relief, as if I'd been plucked right out of a nightmare and saved. The moon was on fire, at least in the memories of myself, Donald, and my brother Will. It wasn't just me. As long as it wasn't just me, I was happy. I did have to show him, though, online. I had to show him how all the articles, videos, and pictures had been scrubbed. There wasn't a trace online. He'd met Crazy Donald once before, and it shocked him to see the old man lucid and calm. Well, mostly lucid and calm. He still said, he'd still said, but he'd still

All sat in the corner, stunned by the loss of 40 years of his life. And now I'm trying to figure out what to do next. My date went horribly wrong, but I'm not convinced that something isn't really going on. I don't know. What about you all? Is anyone acting strangely around you? Sorry for the delay in posting again, but I gather a bunch of you are feeling the same way. These people don't seem to know each other, but they're starting to talk and figure out who's who.

I keep feeling like I'm being stared at in the grocery store. Which is weird, because normally I feel invisible. Will is staying for the time being. He's concerned for a lot of reasons, but mainly I think he wants to make sure I'm okay. Donald is sleeping on our couch, and we have been keeping mostly to ourselves for the past few days. Every time we go out, conversations with other people feel strange and suspicious, like everyone suspects everyone else of either being in on it or not in on it, and nobody knows for sure. What was it?

What's going on out there? Donald keeps having dreams about a hateful presence watching us from a great distance. I can't help but think on what Ashley said. Isn't he beautiful? Who? Who did she mean? Did that object that hit the moon bring something terrible to our doorstep? What would have happened to us if it had landed here instead?

We thought we'd been saved, but were we really safe at all? All of these thoughts push the boundaries of the logic I usually use to keep myself sane. Will isn't talking much about this, but I can tell he's worried. He knows something's going on, but nobody can say for sure what it is. He did mention that he thinks ideas can be very powerful. The right kind of rumor could spread all over, making people fear each other. Maybe that was what we were feeling when we went out. People afraid of each other, suspicious of each other on a basis of rumor, not on the basis

of some spreading secret agenda. Funny thing is, whatever's going on, it isn't affecting life as usual. I still see people driving and going to work. People are still shopping at the grocery store. I've been watching horror movies for ideas, which is usually ill-advised, given my condition, but it feels like research, and I've never seen anything like this. These people aren't crazy, and they aren't fanatics, and they're not mind-controlled. They're something else entirely.

They're completely themselves, but... Hold on, it seems like something's going on outside. We barely got away. A mob of people, maybe eight or ten guys, came looking for me. They said it was because of what I did to Ashley, or at least that's what they shouted as we ran. We heard them coming and went out the back basement door. Will gripped my arm hard the whole way, and I'm sure he was wondering whether I'd really

hurt someone. With nowhere else to go, Donald followed us, trembling. That's not why they're after us, I insisted. They know I'm not one of them. They want us to look at the moon. I've had enough of that talk." We'll replied as we hid in the bushes outside the building. I'm not going to look because I promised, but how can looking at the moon change people?

It was Donald who finally got through to him. I don't know you, man, but you need to wake up. You're a nice, strong lad, and I'm sure life has gotten along rather well for you. You need to believe in the society that empowers you." I stared at him. I was surprised. Alec and I were metalheads, outcasts, anti-establishment, man. We don't have the same need to believe that everything is fine, and we're probably still free

because of who we are. We fell through the cracks like we always do. I had a priest and a bitter old woman screaming in my head for 30 years. I looked up for 30 seconds, and it all went away. There's a whispering in my brain that pushes back against the screaming in between. I'm free. Will took a moment away from peering at our building to stare him down.

Then how do we know you're not one of them? That the moon didn't change you. I hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't I thought of that? I guess you don't know. Donald answered, grim. But I've got nowhere to go. I'm sorry.

He turned and shouted toward the building. They're over here! I remember screaming something in anger. But Will punched him quickly, knocking him senseless. It didn't matter. The mob had heard. They came storming out of the building in a flash. They'll find us.

Will breathed, grabbing my arm. We ran again, diving between bushes, climbing fences, and slinking through the backyards. Did you hurt that girl? He asked. No. I whispered angrily. I didn't hurt anyone. He said nothing further.

His expression focused. We seemed to be making a large circle, and after two hours of exhausted. sneaking, we found his car. I climbed into the passenger seat with a sigh. Cloud cover had come and hidden the moon, and I felt strangely more secure for it. Where are we going? I panted. We're going to make sure lore's all right, he responded. Dad and Tracy, too. We're in a coffee shop right now. I thought to bring my laptop when we ran, and I'm glad I did. It's our only lifeline to the world at large. News pages, forums, comics, They're all going on as normal.

How much of the world is affected? Do the affected people even know something is different? The people in the coffee shop here aren't looking around suspiciously. Do they have any idea what's going on? Have they narrowly avoided looking at the moon somehow? It's been rather cloudy. Or is this all going on in my head? How do you all cope with feelings like this?

I just can't trust myself. The tone of the conversations on this form has definitely changed. I think they're reading our posts and changing our behavior accordingly. If you're not affected, don't trust anybody. It's not just you. You're not crazy. I made it home. Dad's passed out drunk, and Tracy is making some coffee.

Will is talking to them quietly in the other room. I wish I could hear what they were saying. I have this strange feeling that Will might be making the case to lock me up. If most of this is in my head, I must look totally insane to him. Or, what if he's been compromised? What if he's already looked at the moon? Oh, God. I don't know what to do.

I panicked. I've only got like $30 in cash on me, and I ran. I ran away. I took my stuff and bolted. I couldn't risk getting locked up. I've been hiding out in an abandoned house down the street for two days and using the neighbor's unprotected Wi-Fi. I used to listen to music with the kid who lived here. He's gone now.

But the house is still in good shape. I don't think anybody will be looking for me indoors. This will work. It has to work. I'll figure out how to live. Other people were using this house as a hideout. I'm cramped in a basement closet, and I've been here for hours. They're weird, cultish in a way.

They're all dressed in plain brown clothes that look like someone's piss-poor attempt to be inconspicuous, to the point that it's blatantly obvious they're not normal. They talk funny too, but they seem just as wary of what's going to. on. I saw them peering out windows and hiding when a car drove by. Crap, those people found me somehow, like they knew where I was hiding, but that was two weeks ago. They keep to themselves, and I still find them very strange, but they're trying to figure out what's going on too. I'm still not sure this isn't just all in my head. I've been trying to get a read on these people. They seem like foreigners, but they speak perfect English. If they're a

cult, I can't figure out what they're called. They seem to be worried about another half of their group that got changed by the moon. I'm almost out of pills. I'm nervous, and I feel surreal all the time. I have a strong feeling I'm hallucinating these people entirely. I sneak out and get food at night. At first, I used cash, but I didn't like the suspicious looks I got from people at the store. How much of the world is affected now?

It seems like society is going on just fine without me. Am I the crazy Donald on the fringes? Am I standing around muttering to myself on a corner somewhere? Maybe not, but I'm still living in a basement and hallucinating a bunch of brown-clothes strangers. It's getting cold, too, now that it's November. I noticed people replying less and less on here. I've got to steal food. God, they found me.

A dozen men and women, and my dad, Tracy, and Laura found me. They stood outside the house and shouted for me to come out. Come on outside, son. My dad yelled, his face a little red from drinking. I peered out the window. Behind me, the brown-clothed people prepared to fight with makeshift weapons. I thought it hilarious that my hallucinations were preparing like they could do anything. Look!

Tracy yelled. We know you're scared because of what you did to that poor girl. Don't worry, we convinced her not to press charges. Come on out and everything will be fine. What were they waiting for? Why didn't they just storm the house? They had more than enough people, and the molted moon cast everything outside and lurid orange, making me terrified of even touching the light streaming in the window.

Outside, they muttered amongst themselves. Then Dad yelled again. Alec, we're really worried about you. You need to come out of your own free will. It'll show us you're not violent. Don't do it, a voice said beside me. I turned and looked. Will?

Yeah. We're not going. out for anything. They can rot in hell. I stared. When did you get here? What? He asked, frowning. I've been here the whole time, hiding out with you. We're not going to get caught and turned into one of them. Was I losing my mind? Or had he just snuck in the back and said all this to confuse me? How could I have forgotten that he was here the whole time? I wish I had time to go back and read what I'd written down. Had I mentioned Will at all recently? Ah, the hell with it! My dad yelled. We don't know. We'd

don't have time for the cat and mouse game anymore. We need to be ready for his coming. Come outside right now. No! I shouted back. He lifted a gun, not at me, but at Tracy. Alec, Will, come out, or you're going to have to start paying the price for resisting. Don't do it, Will told me gruffly.

I'm going to count to three, boy. One, two, three. I didn't move. The gunshot rang out with a surprise. auditing, auditory punch, and I felt my awareness go numb. Had he really just... Tracy fell to the ground, bleeding from the side of her head. He lifted the gun and pointed it at Laura.

Do you understand? I'm going to count to three. I stared, horrified. Beside me, Will was crying. Behind me, the strange, brown-clothed people had used the opportunity to slip out the back door and escape, if they existed at all. Will stood. No!

I insisted trying to hold him, but he tore free and moved for the front door. Don't do it! He yelled, going out with his hands up. Don't kill her. My dad smiled. That's one. Alec, come out now. Will faced the house.

His expression resigned. Come on, Alec. We don't have a choice. He was right in a way. I had no money, no allies, and no idea what was really going on. Hesitantly, I stepped outside. Will grinned. and the dozen men and women snatched me, but he didn't look at the moon.

He didn't look. He didn't need to. He'd already been changed. I'd been tricked. I'd been tricked because I was easy and vulnerable. They held me and forced me to stare up, and some even held my eyelids. As I watched, the blazing cloud of fire around the molten moon seemed to condense, swirl, and disappear into me, leaving behind a silver crescent.

They let me go after thirty-sixth. seconds, because they didn't need to hold me anymore. I was myself still, but no longer. It was like having access to another room in my mind. In one room, I was me. In the other, I was also me, but a me that eagerly awaited the coming of the dreamer on high. I hated the fact that some people did not believe in him, and I wanted to seek them out and make them see. They had to see his glory. They all had to see his glory. But a temple of self remained within. They didn't know. The slightest resistance kept the believer in me from mentioning that I was out of pills. I was utterly his for a week or two, but somewhere

around the first or second of December, the lack of pills began setting in. I write this to you now, friends, because we are all in this form for a reason. We've all got our issues, and those people can free us. I write to you now, completely free, and they don't know. They don't know that I'm myself once more. There's talk of his coming in one more cycle of the moon, which I think means something big is happening in the next month. December, 2023 is not going to be a good month for humanity, but I'm doing my best to get close to whatever is going to happen, and I'm going to make sure it crashes and burns. If you're out there, and you're still hearing any of this, you have to do the same. Don't let them know that you know.

They started out of deception when they were few, but they are not afraid to be violent now. If anything else is left, lay low, and wait for the right moment. I'll write again when I can. I never knew how hard it would be to set up a resistance movement. You can't trust anyone at all. I wish I'd had more time to watch spy movies. We had to come up with tactics on our own, especially because we didn't have the same test that the changed had. Eight is four.

They could force someone to look up at the moon and then assume that the person had become theirs. They didn't know that they could be wrong, and that those of us with mental issues were instead made whole by the conflicting energies in our skulls, but rumors were beginning to circulate to that effect. And for us, even if a person was free and sound of mind, that didn't mean they wouldn't defect out of self-interest like Donald had. I'd resented him at first, but he'd taught me a valuable lesson.

I've never met my co-conspirators. We can't meet. I can't be sure they're on my side, and they can't be sure I'm on theirs. I don't even know how many of us there are. All I know is that we've been passing messages through ridiculously elaborate methods, or anonymously online, and I'm getting some sense of what's happening in the world at large. That's the weird part. Life is going on as normal.

Farmers are farming, cab drivers are driving, office employees are lounging around, talking, and taking smoke breaks every hour. The only difference is that any talk of religion has been replaced by praises of the dreamer on high, and the world lies excited for the coming event. Some believe it will be a rapture, and some believe the dreamer will simply come in person and rule over us for all time. Me, I'm using my newfound clarity and solid sense of reality to work my way up the ranks of trust. I feel smart and capable in a way I've never been. Is this what normal people feel like all the

time? I understand now that individual motivations have not changed. Will still thinks he's helping me, in his own way. He thought tricking me out of the house and forcing me to accept him was saving me from a life of a homeless and mentally deficient outcast. He wasn't wrong, I suppose. He continued to pursue relationships with higher-ups, and he continues to try. to get us deeper in and trusted more. We're going to be his prime disciples. Will says often, excited and determined. Brother, I always said I'd take care of you.

You and Laura and Dad, too. We're going to be at the top of the food chain when the new order comes. We'll be taking care of. I would nod and smile, but secretly think, tell that to our stepmom. Minutes are ours. It's funny that we all started out paranoid and suspicious of the change. And now that changed are paranoid and suspicious of us, or is it sad rather than funny? That the free human race is now the fringe.

They had a funeral and buried Tracy in the cemetery and everything. Dad stayed sober for two whole days and cried publicly at the reception. You killed her, you psychopath? I remember thinking to myself. But he didn't feel guilty about it since it had to be done. The double-think the change in genders brings hypocrisy. You want what you want for your own life, but service to the dreamer on high takes precedent over all of your desires, no matter how strong.

That's why I know that I can't trust anyone, not even my own family. They wouldn't hesitate to murder me, and passerbyes would cheer the silencing of another heretic. That's the crazy thing. I remember people acting this way before. This isn't new to humanity. Suspected heretics are the new second-class citizens. the new victims of the witch hunt.

Different race, different ideology, different religion. Now it's down to simply having a different mind. It's insane how scared they are of anyone who might not share their fanaticism. I got a look at what their plan is. Yellow is blue. I understand now why their plan will actually work. They have among them members of the cult that I thought I'd imagined. Now, because of their distinctively plain manner of dress,

They're called brown shirts now because of their distinctively plain manner of dress, and they're among the top priests of the order. They've got abilities I can't explain. They can sense electromagnetic ways of all sorts, and they hate computers and robots of any kind. I don't know who they are, but I get the strange sense that they're not human. They look completely human, and they eat, breathe, and walk around, but the way they talk and move and peer at things is just wrong somehow. like somebody who never learned to be a person. Which is unfortunate, because I need to get into contact with at least one of them. If anyone out there knows a brown shirt that hasn't been changed, I need to meet them.

Leave a note at location yellow in eight minutes from the time of this post. The meeting went well. There are two free brown shirts still alive and present. From what they said, the rest of the free fled southeast over the mountains and to another universe, if you can believe that. They're so strange. I kind of accept it when they say it so calmly. I also accept it because of what I've seen since the changed building in the center of the city. Why Columbus, Ohio?

This I wondered often. The answer turned out to be very simple. They're building the altar here because this is where the brown shirts were and are. My hunch has been right. They said they've remained behind to try to save what members of their kind they could. They claimed to be from somewhere else and that they were on an exodus to a place of safety, a place where they'd hoped old alliances were still in place. They would not elaborate. But they did say they would help. We have our first real allies now. They swore their assistance

when I told them what I'd seen, a gigantic altar being built in front of the city capital building. The base was mostly in place, but the rest seemed to involve strange biomechanical artifice and a row of brown shirts chained and integrated to the machine. They were aware and happy to be of service, save one. One remained free, perhaps due to the same effect that kept me so, and his face and arm were battered and bloody from torture. It's a week until Christmas, and somehow I feel like it will be humanity's last day. The irony is not lost on me. A holiday tale about a birth of a religious savior will, in some twisted sense, be made true. Get ready, everyone. If the plan we've built together doesn't work, it's going to get bloody.

They caught somebody skulking about the high rises downtown. They know for certain that we exist now, and they know why we exist, because he was an escaped mental patient. I've come under immense scrutiny, and Will has been protecting me. I fear they will force me to undertake some act of loyalty to prove I'm not a heretic. They've been keeping Laura close. I have a feeling they're going to ask me to kill her. She and I haven't been close since my illness started, but that's just one more reason I don't think I can. can bring myself to do it. She's still my sister, but the entire world is on the line. I've

been watched and followed recently. Updates and communications are going to get sparse. Stick to the plan, everyone. Two days remain. The altar construction seems right on schedule. God, it's not going to work. I don't think even half of you will get this message in time, but it's not going to work. My brown shirt allies sensed it first, and then an observatory contact of mine confirmed it. Not that the holy news isn't spreading among the change like wildfire. There are five more objects on the way, coming in at near light speed. They'll be in here in a day and a half, roughly the same as the first took from detection

to arrival. God, we've nearly lost it all to just one. It sits up there, mocking us, brainwashing us, and now five more are coming? This can't be a coincidence. The timing is too neat. A day and a half to Christmas. A day and a half to the ritual. A day and a half to the arrival of five more apocalyptic, near luminous objects.

Will they hit Earth? If so, we'll never know, because we'll all be dead. Perhaps the moon saved us the first time, but if these five also hit the moon, the threat of the dreamer on high will grow sixfold. What are these godforsaken things? EADES? Embryos? Brain matrices?

Portals? What? I can only imagine, and theorizing is pointless. If we don't stop this before they arrive, we lose. We lose everything. We have to move up the plan. We have to strike now, but it won't work unless everyone's on board. We're in a serious bind here.

Spread the word. We have to strike at the alternate time we discussed from the beginning. It's hard for me to think back on it all. Quite a few of you have asked me to detail. You have asked me to detail exactly what happened on that day. Now that January is over and a month has passed, I think I can face it. News and understanding has been fragmented, obviously, but I do think I can paint a clear picture. As you know, our plan didn't work.

It was a really good try, but we were amateurs and half of us were spies and defectors. It did help the absolute chaos broke out at the proper time. I went there on Christmas morning to the city center. of thousands had gathered to see the coming of the dreamer on high. My two brown-shirt allies stood with me, wearing the normal clothes I'd found for them. I'd trained them on how to act, and we'd work together to mask our feel, but they said our kin could sense them otherwise. Will thought they were just two friends of mine. Will was thrilled to see me making friends. Will was the high priest's assistant by then. But that old man didn't trust me very much.

I had to stand a bit away from the altar in the dense crowd while the high priest began giving a speech to thunderous cheers and applause. The weird thing is, weird in many ways, as it turned out, was that the altar was already active. They'd built it and completed the first parts of the ritual the night before. A gigantic oval lay torn in space in the middle of it, kept open by a row of chained brown shirts. It was a portal, an honest-to-god portal in space. That's not the weird part, though. My two allies whispered that it shouldn't be able to do what it was doing. It wasn't just a portal in space.

Among the random flitting locations on Earth it displayed, I recognized some as very ancient, but bustling with life. It was showing other times, too. I saw a tribe of cavemen. I saw the colossus of Rhodes. I saw the crowd, our crowd. And then there, from behind, many of the sea of people waved at them for a few. moments, laughing and cheering.

That should have been impossible, my allies told me. The configuration of the altar was not just augmenting and focusing the abilities of the brown shirts. It was fracturing space-time, too. Whatever might have intended to use that portal, they said, it was something extraordinarily dangerous. They couldn't emphasize it enough. There was dangerous, like a gun.

Really dangerous, like a nuclear bomb. Extremely dangerous, like a universe-eating swarm of machines. and then, whatever this was, it was worse, worse than all that. They couldn't even hazard a guess as to what it might be, but it didn't make sense to me. The dreamer on high was on the moon. That much had been true. The object that hit the moon had gone molten and remained molten, so massive as it was, casting lurid orange over my free senses and crowds and high rises around me.

And then, the Dreamer on High had begun his insidious work. He was already there. He didn't need a portal strong enough to fracture space time. He was already here. He was just stuck on the moon. And now five more somethings were coming to reinforce his power. What was this portal for? I understood the gravity of our errors the moment I saw him.

A black-robed figure moved through the crowd, parting disciples like waves. A hood covered his face, and I knew who it was the moment I saw him. He walked slowly up to the altar and faced his high priest. My brother Will stood to the side, among many helpers and assistants, each dressed in flowing purple and gold. Next to them, and in many strange places stood brutish men with guns. We'd had provisions in our plan to handle the men with guns. That plan was on thin ice now. The Dreamer on Hive was already here.

They'd summoned him the night before. They brought him to Earth somehow the night before. We'd been tricked. We'd been outsmarted. They didn't care about the holiday at all. They'd just used it to subtly dupe us. He moved past me, close enough to touch. I thought in my mind that I should pull my knife, leap forward, and slice his throat.

But chill waves kept me frozen in place. My two brown-shod allies looked away lest he sensed them. Had that been my chance? I began feeling my limbs again as he stepped up onto the altar. At that moment, the crowd murmured, and I turned to look with the rest of humanity. A single man ran down the empty wake left by the dreamer's passing. He looked wild, half homeless, but desperate. The men with guns hefted their weapons and began to aim, but they were too late to stop

his simple attempt. He hurled a book at the portal. That was all. With 20,000 other pairs of eyes, I watched it sail through the air. air. It wasn't a fiction book. It had no images on the cover. It must have been a journal. It looked like it was about to fall short, but the effect was an optical illusion. It curved up a bit in the roiling air and sailed into the vast portal. The portal flashed into a dozen fractured images of other similar books sailing through the air. Behind them, we could all plainly see

other individual men and women in other crowds, completing throws in the midst of vast crowds, In each alternate version of our own scene, a dreamer stood, black-robed, calm, and unmoving. Instead of shooting him outright, the armed thugs grabbed the lone man and brought him to the ground. Whoever he was, the lone man screamed for help, half in gibberish, and no one helped him. How could he? To do so would mean death. That's what it is for, one of my brownshire allies whispered. He's accessing a different vector than we expected.

He's not trying to access alternate Earths in the parallel reality sense. He's trying to access different quantum choice trees of the universe. What? I asked fiercely, sort of grasping what he was talking about. He moved a little closer to speak without being heard by the crowd pressed against us. This could have happened a thousand different ways. We could have come to other cities. A different man or woman could have thrown that book.

That's what you're seeing. All other presence and futures of these events. I kept my expression positive, despite my intense worry about what he was describing. We hadn't understood or planned for any of this. Why? A blasting tidal wave of utter quiet tore across the city center. As one, humanity froze. The dream returned to face us.

A vast darkness comes. A cheer began swelling. Silence. The chill voice, as if someone were whispering directly into our minds, brought absolute stillness. I can sense that not all of you love me. I can feel your minds. I can feel your hatred. I gulped and kept my thoughts positive.

Each of my two allies clutched one of my arms and helped hide us from the probing energies I felt roving around the air. I speak to you now, non-belief. A great darkness is coming. I have always been here, watching you from just outside the wall. Security is illusion. Safety is a self-imposed tomb. I reeled under the icy cold of his words and my thoughts until something occurred to me.

Why was he speaking to us at all? He would only address us in this manner if we were threats, if we actually stood a chance. The portal's destinations were starting to slow down, going from rapid randomness to slowing coherence. Almost as if a spinning wheel was losing momentum as someone else. applied the brakes. I could see the chain brown shirts focusing, and a thug near one of the free brown shirts applied a shocking probe to him to force him to comply too. If the dreamer was addressing us at all, then we stood a chance. I lifted the flare gun I'd hidden under my shirt, wondering if it might be the last act I ever took. I pulled the trigger, and an orange flare

shot up, burning the color of the molten sky. As I said, absolute chaos did break out at the proper time. Two of the armed men were with us, it turned out. They rotated in place and immediately shot several of their fellows in the back. The crowd around us surged intensely, and fighting broke out all around. Nobody knew who the enemy was, changed or free. Everyone suspected everyone else. It was as we'd expected, but I hadn't anticipated the sheer violence. Blood sprayed through the air as friend murdered friend and family murdered family. A concerted push aimed for the altar. So, our plan actually taking shape. A gnaw of men, women, and even teenagers that I'd seen before surrounded us, and we punched,

sliced, and kicked our way to the staging area while five blue stars grew brighter in the sky, the approaching objects loose shifted by their sheer speed. The goal wasn't to get me to the portal, it was to get our allies close. Together, the two free brown shirts stared at the portal, and the space around it trembled from the interference. Somehow, though, it was me that the dream returned to face. Stop! The command was inviolable, and I froze as ordinary men and women massacute each other in a circle

around the two of us. Order them to stop. I'd never felt pain like that, and I can still remember it vividly. The two rooms in my mind began cracking as if their foundation was shifting. I remember shaking and seeing my vision grim prism as blood began welling out of my eyes. Behind the dreamer, Will pushed his way through the fighting and reached me. Stop hurting him! He shouted, and the black-red figure turned his attention on my brother instead.

He freed me, and I stumbled forward through misty red, lurid orange, and growing blue, to feebly try to tackle the dream run high. I fell right through him. The portal! I breathed, writhing on the flat mat. How can you use it if you're not here? It is not for me. It's for you, all of you.

I am your savior. There is a chain of events in which the human race survives the coming darkness. There is one future in which you escape the crushing forces that approach. You will come to the land of plenty and be safe there under me. The dreamer stood in place and looked up at the molten orange sphere hanging low above us. He lowered his hooded head as five streaks of vivid blue rapidly sliced across the sky. I turned my head as blinding white and orange exploded above. Even that wasn't enough as successive impacts followed,

and the sea of people fighting one another fell in waves against the sheer brightness. The ground trembled beneath us, an incredible wind began pouring through the channels between the high rises. Many began running without prompting, and the rest organized in evacuation. I helped unchain the brown shirts, all now free as we ran. The dreamer was gone, the portal was gone, and as you all know, so was the moon. A ring of molten rock arcs through the sky now, lighting each day and each night until it cools. The remains of the dreamer on high are up there too, gobs of undefinable organic mass that many say look like brain matter. I believe it.

Thing is, we never understood what we were. facing. The dreamer hadn't come with that first object. It had always been here. It had, in all likelihood, formed the moon by its arrival. That's why we have, well, had two moons, and why one has always been so different from the other. The other moon lurks still beyond the molten ring, glimmering with reflected orange. I don't like that sight at all. Not one bit. I still feel watched, it'll go back to staying beneath my horizon for three months soon, like it was from October to December. I can't wait for that reprieve.

Let the southern hemisphere take a turn feeling creeped out. Some unknown power shot these objects at us eons ago. Some power unrelated to the dreamer. That's what we figure now, and I'm sure you've heard all the theories. The first object was a calibration test, possibly, and failed to kill the dreamer on high. The next five were right on target and completely obliterated the moon just to make sure. Whoever had fired those objects hadn't been trying to kill us. They'd been trying to save us.

Had they suffered at the hands of the Dreamer on high or something like it? Had this incredible gift been their final act? Scientists turned their telescope toward the origin point, but there was nothing left there now. That star had gone supernova when Earth was in its infancy. they'd been, they'd saved us without a word and without a single thank you. Still, we thanked them, the world over. But I can't help feeling we're not safe. The words the dreamer spoke to me and to nobody else linger with me. Was it actually, in its own twisted way, trying to save us from something worse? The brown shirts have moved on, but they left me and the other members

of the resistance they trusted with a few concerns. First, if they can find the rest of their people, the ones that moved on, and if they can find the old allies they speak of, they'll come back for us to make sure we're all right. Second, they left us with a small metallic clip, one of several they had, but will show us the way to some sort of safe haven if they never managed to return. The chip is very old, and I'm not sure how to use it, but I'm certain we'll figure it out if the coming darkness turns out to be real. And finally, now this was the odd one.

They warned that someone or something was hunting them. They didn't know who or what it was, only that they sensed it on their trail, and it had already passed through here following the rest of their kind. There's no guarantee the hunter would not return. They requested, if anyone came through here asking about them, lie. That is why I give no specific descriptions in my tale here. I don't want the hunter to know what they look like. As far as anyone else is concerned, they're just slightly odd humans.

Me, I'm procrastinating. I have to go visit Will's grave with Laura today. Dad can't go, of course, because he drinks even more than before all this happened. Before he killed Tracy, the only woman who put up with him. It's just me and my sister now, and I'm left in Will's place to take care of the tattered remains of our family. On the bright side, I don't need pills anymore. The dreamer permanently gave me wholeness of mind, even as it took my older brother away. He died there on that altar, taking the dreamer's attack in my place.

He died there a hero, along with thousands of others who didn't survive Christmas Day. And the human race recovers from their shared hangover together, with me as a new member. I've got a strong handle on myself now, and a new confidence born of everything I went through. I'm even going on a second date with Ashley in a few days, and this time, I think I won't screw it up. Silver linings, I suppose. Yeah, I'm finally a functioning member of the human race, all right. Only, I'm not sure I like this club. I can't help but dwell on the statistics that came out last week.

According to the surveys and studies done after the fact, only 18% of the population truly came under the dreamer's control. 18%. That's how many people were 100% brainwashed. That's how many human beings have completely whole minds. It was like a grand social experiment, the lead scientist said on TV. Only 18%. The rest were partially controlled or totally free.

The rest simply fell in line out of fear, self-preservation, and paranoia. That's the thing. Like so many eras in human history, nobody knew who was who. Nobody knew who to trust. Lines of communication were controlled by key members of the changed, and neighbors were turned against one another in classic fashion. I can't shake the dark despair that such news leaves in me. The dreamer had no power, except what we gave it.

The end.