ENTRY: 3 DEC 2025 SUBJECT: #73 MONITOR: Dr. H. Armitage
TRANSCRIPT: The dream started in my old office. The one with the window that looked out over the fountain. It was raining, but the drops were thick and black, like ink. They didn't make any sound when they hit the glass.
I was trying to finish a report, but the words on the screen kept rearranging themselves into spirals. They whispered to me. Not with sound, but in the part of my brain that knows things. They told me secrets about the spaces between seconds.
My keyboard was gone. In its place was a single, pulsating black sphere. It felt warm. It smelled like wet concrete and ozone. My hands wanted to touch it, but I knew if I did, I would forget my own name. I tried to stand up, but my chair had fused with my spine. The leather was growing over my skin.
Then the whispers got louder. They weren't coming from the screen anymore. They were coming from my own throat. I was telling myself to open the door. I knew what was behind the door. A black ocean under a dead sky. A billion drowning voices all singing the same song.
The doorknob began to turn.
I woke up screaming. Or, I thought I did. My mouth was open, but the only sound was a low, oily hum that seemed to coat the inside of my skull. I can still hear it.
And when I looked at my hands, my fingernails were stained with black ink.