Can you recall God’s name?

Chapter 1

A cold sweat… a fever, and strep, it’s that goddamn dream again, the one of the face. That faint yet ever staring face.

In that chair, in the middle of a dark room, with only a match for light, you see it, faintly. More in common with a carcass than a man. For what seemed like days we stared, utter silence only to be interrupted by quited, yet labored, breaths.

Until you suddenly wake up.

I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for weeks, and a therapist for months, and yet I can’t get it out. I’m getting desperate, it’s ruined everything, my job, my wealth, my family… hell, I went back to church… my old priest welcomed me back, as if i never left.

I haven’t been in the confession booth in decades, and the first question asked by the priest was “Can you recall God’s name?”… 

A migraine sets in, my vision turns a blurry white as the priest goes on, unaware of what I was going through. A sharp ringing in my ear gets louder and louder. My only thought I could conjure was “is this the end”.

And as soon as it started, it ended, vomit on my coat and being helped by the church patrons and paramedics. I must have been out for hours, as it was mid sunset when I woke up. 

Rushed to the hospital, and went into that MRI room I’ve seen many times before. Did I have a brain tumor, could it have been a seizure? Maybe a blood vessel broke… 


Nothing that wasn’t already wrong.

While an ambulance was taking me home, a headache began. “Not again” i thought “Please”. But like the scan, nothing happened. I’m tired and yet I dread going to sleep. 

I’ll see it, I don’t want to see it, not tonight. I can’t take it… I feel like vomiting.

I feel like I’m going insane

It’s been 10 days since I last went to bed. I refuse to sleep, I can’t sleep. 

I’ve been staying awake with my medications and drugs to do so, after day 4 I resorted to meth and cocaine, my vision is nearly black, and my peripheral vision is gone completely. But I won’t, I can’t.

I break down crying, exerting all my energy in the process, but it’s all I could do, I’m weak. 

I’m slowly losing consciousness, feeling myself passing out.

After 10 minutes, I passed out. 

Nothing. blackness. a void.

Is this it? Am I dead? My eyes adjust to the dark, it’s night time. A throbbing headache from withdrawal sets in, almost unbearable. I get up from the ground and get myself orientated, 

somethings not right. I slept,

Without seeing it. Am I still dreaming?

I hear a thump, from the front door. In my delirious state, I seek shelter from whatever is behind that door. I’m still scared of it. The thumping continues, and then more, and then again.

My heart is racing, and I rush and seek refuge in my bedroom, the farthest room from the front door.

I hear a loud crash through the front door, then loud stomping into my home. I notice my firearm on my bedside table, one bullet in it as always, I grab it and look outside my room at the front door. I see nothing… I look to my side… 

I see it…

Walking backwards towards the wall in fear… it follows me, with its long scraggly arms, and enormous hands and fingers as long as swords. The figure, so lovecraftian in nature, inching 2 steps for every one step that I took. 

I trip onto my wall, clenching my gun tightly between my hands.

Still trying to walk backwards on my wall the creature gets closer, and closer. More detail of the face getting clearer and clearer.

The eyes are so hollow, yet seem like a thousand stares back, the mouth, its teeth all being rotted away, as with its flesh, with a stench so fowl, I couldn’t hold in my vomit…

 the creature,  inching ever closer.

I can’t take this, I won’t take this.

I raise the gun to my mouth, as the creature comes closer.

It’s but a foot away and bends down to me, as if it is about to speak. It takes a deep breath and relays these words

“Can you recall God’s name?”

Can you recall God’s name?

Scrappy Doo found dead in Central Park after violent riot

Scrappy Doo, a beloved character of the television show “Scooby Doo” was found dead at 8:37 AM of the 28th August after riot that erupted in Central Park. Detectives at the crime scene report that Scrappy was shot in the back twice and once in the leg.

Detective Ronald Oswald goes on record, saying “We have no witnesses or evidence of any kind, its truly a dark day for everyone in America”. with no evidence, we are forced to grieve with no resolve with whom the murder was committed by.

The Whitehouse is currently on gathering taxpayer money to build a memorial for our fallen character, weather or not he participated in the Central Park riots.

The NYPD is also putting possible suspects into questioning and interrogation, but as of September 7th, we have no closure in sight.