The hooded reaver came in the night. It lifted a single shadow-dripping finger and all manner of terrors beset me.
These last few days I was at a friend’s home to make a weekend out of watching the dota2 international 3 tournament. Our sleeping routines were guillotined in the first night. I’m pretty used to little sleep, it suites me fine, and when I hit 40 hours awake the one morning it wasn’t really anything worth mentioning. A lot of people have those bouts now and then.
If you’re one of those people you might know the mild hallucinations you can get from sleep deprivation. It’s nothing major: solid surfaces become slightly liquid in texture and depth perception makes objects expand and retract sporadically like a windows-screensaver cube.
I like to have fun with these, just staring at stuff. And by that morning I’d gone a couple of days without medication.
So once my head hit the pillow I suddenly felt a fresh wave of energy. It happens.
To pass the time I figured I’d look at things. It’s always darkest before dawn and witching hour is three hours before that, so there must be trippy shit floating around right?
So here’s where it started.
Pale pre-dawn sunlight floated into the room onto a small part of the bed. I stared at my hands in that semi-darkness. The texture became a little more erratic than normal, my hands began bouncing around in size. I held them apart, touching only at each fingertip, with thumbs seperated from the other fingers.
My hands began disintegrating, they fell away into blackness, my fingers visibly turning to large black petals that came apart and floated away like ash. My eyes were drying out from being open for so long, but I was really interested. I could literally feel a certain change at the sides of my head, a sort of clenched light headedness.
Inside of the blackness where my hands couldn’t quite hold shape anymore there came a little sphere, a deeper shade of darkness than its surroundings. It was spinning like a gyro with small strips of lumo colour dancing through it like static charges.
I closed my eyes for a while and all manner of weird creatures forced themselves into my brain. Transparent veins filled with black ichor spreading out dendritically along the extremities of an insectile creature made of vines, some kind of one-and-a-half headed animal, and then the spirits. These were shapeless flux very much like lovecroft’s yog-sothoth. It didn’t take long for them to scare the hell out of me. When I opened my eyes again things went slightly out of control. I couldn’t enjoy those mind tricks my eyes played, they were everywhere now, without me being able to get a grip by just not staring. Everything was water and everything took on anthropomorphic shapes. The friends’ cat jumped through the window and lay next to me.
I’ve never been especially spiritually sensitive, and I’m not an advocate of opening oneself up to wyrd influence by way of symbols and thoughts, but in the dark there, with only myself and the purring cat, I became scared. I became worried at the strange sensation in my head. I became worried that I’d opened some spiritual door I’m not even sure I believe in through the shape I held my hands in when I concentrated. I became worried that I couldn’t distinguish between a bad trip (if that’s what this was) and a spiritual attack.
The cat jumped off the bed and and I closed my eyes to get the image of the walls breathing away from me. I opened my eyes because the sound of the cats movement was almost more scary than that view. Clawing at the bed, scrabbling fast across the sheets like some slavering imp…
I survived that bad trip with prayer and by falling asleep. I still can’t get some parts of it out of my head.
lucklacker 