Fiends in the Cabinet

Uncle Sid had stayed in the bathroom far longer than usual that morning.

“I had to start writing. It’s somehow easier to think on paper, if that makes any sense. It’s also quieter this way. I just hope my breathing isn’t too loud.

It’s strange. No matter how quiet I am, I feel like It can hear me; like It can hear my very existence. It can hear my energy.

I know I’m probably just being paranoid, but I can’t seem to get quiet enough. I don’t think anyone could ever be quiet enough for that thing not to hear them.

Please, tell me you’ve seen It, too. Tell me that It’s really there and It’s something everyone can see, not just me. I know I’ve been asking you this for years now, but I need to know. I need to know that there is at least one other person who can see It.

I hear something. It sounds like giggling – cackling, more like it. I see It now, too. Well, not entirely, just Its hand. I can see Its hand reaching toward the glass door.

Now, I feel like, no matter how quiet It is, I can still hear It. I can hear the buzzing silence of Its presence. I can feel It. I can feel Its skin pressed against the glass and Its fingers wrapping around the metal knob. I hear jostling and rummaging.

Its hand feels heavier now; there’s something in it. Some things, actually – lots of small, round some-things. I can feel Its heavy hand coming toward my face. I can taste an awful bitterness as It pops the some-things under my tongue.

Its hand’s moving again, reaching toward the tap. I can hear the water, then taste the fluoride in it. It’s holding my head back under the tap, forcing me to drink. The bitter taste is stronger as the round some-things turn to powder and slide down my throat.

It just shut the door. I can see a face now. It’s got a face, but just barely. I can’t make it out well, I can’t read it. Its face – that blank expression – is like watching dead air. Even as It’s staring me dead in the eyes, I can’t feel Its gaze. Actually, I can’t feel much of anything now. It’s as if It’s looking through me, not at me.

It looks like a monster, but not quite. It’s humanoid, but not quite. Perhaps neither monster nor human is the proper term. It’s more like a fiend. Yeah, a fiend – human on the outside, but a monster on the inside.

Wait, I recognize Its face and expression now. I’ve seen it many times before. I remember it now, clear as ever. The cotton vision has subsided and now I know that face.

It’s mine. That’s my face in the mirror. But, it’s so gaunt and glassy. Why is it so disturbing to look at myself? Why is my skin so pale, and my cheeks and eyes so sunken? Why am I so afraid of myself? Why did I do this to myself – again?!

The doctors said the drugs would fix It. They swore the pills would fix things, would fix the fiend, would fix me.

You could see It after all, couldn’t you? You could see the fiend all this time. But, unlike myself, you never noticed It – at least, not completely. You didn’t see the monster inside because you could only see from the outside. You only ever saw your Uncle Sid. You only saw me.

I guess you were right. Maybe I do take too many.”

That was the note emergency services found jammed inside Uncle Sid’s medicine cabinet.