Of Stubbornness

You stubborn creatures. His reluctance to let go is causing him more harm than letting go would. But, oh, the delight. There's nothing like the human skill of causing yourself intense pain to feed off.
This one is providing too much fun for suicide. He has so much more pain to cause, to himself and the ones he cares about.
So much sorrow unleashed.
But I won't have to wait much longer.
Ashm's about to break.
~Sialon

Of Sorrow and Confusion.

Ah, the sorrow. The sorrow, pain, confusion, and fear. The things my puppets go through. Humans certainly are interesting.
He tells me he's not depressed, that he'll be fine. But, I can see the pain in his eyes. The suit he wears seems to fool everyone around him, but he can't fool me. He is mine, it's my business to know what he's feeling.
You humans, with your pitiful emotions. You are the only beings I know that have such conflicting feelings. Love, a concept that brings both happiness and sadness. Healing and hurt. 'Ups and downs,' as you would say.
Only humans have such mixed feelings. For example, this particular human is, right now, sad, confused, in pain, angry, and scared. It's truly amazing.
And it provides good entertainment.
Oh, he wants me to say that this isn't real, and not to read too much into to, especially certain people. Fool, saying 'certain people' won't work. Everyone is going to know who he's talking about.
There, I said it. He is under my protection. I have to give something in return for his pitiful life.
Believe what you will.
I enjoy watching your pain.
This should be interesting.
     ~ Sialon

Clocks

It's silent. As it should be at this time of night. The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock on the wall. You enjoy it at times like this. It's peaceful; the silence. The best time to think, and record your thoughts. The pad of refill beside your bed gets plenty of use.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
It's rhythmic, the clock. Soothing, relaxing. As if everything is going right.
It's times like this when your insomnia doesn't matter. You think best at this time of night, when there's no interruptions. Apart from the occasional moments of paranoia, it's perfect. And that's all they are. Paranoia. Senseless paranoia. No reason for it, apart from your imagination. It's your imagination that's turning those night-time noises and shadows into something sinister. The footsteps are clearly just one of your pets, or the groans of the old house. The scratching and tapping at your window is just a tree. The shadows in the corner, just your brain trying to make something out of nothing.
Paranoia. Paranoia and imagination. That's all it is. But then, what's making that sighing noise? The wind? Probably. At least the ticking of the clock is familiar, regular. There's no mistaking that for something else. Unless it's the slow tapping of impatient claws, or fingernails. . .
Damn your imagination. Overcome with a sudden feeling of paranoia, you just have to get up and confirm that your fears are unfounded. Using your phone as a torch, you swing your legs out of bed. The clock is just outside your bedroom door. The ticking (tapping?) is coming from the other side of your door. You sigh. Safe then. But you know that you won't be able to sleep until you're sure.
Opening your door, you look around nervously. You glance at the clock. Strange, the ticking doesn't seem to be coming from the clock. You check the time. 3.03, the clock says. You decide to get a glass of water.
Suddenly, you get a message.
"Hey, you up?"
A mate. Just a mate. Nothing sinister. But, something on your phone catches your eye. The time on there says 3.43. That's weird. You glance back at the clock. Something doesn't seem right. It's not moving. But the ticking continues.
In fear, you rush back to your room, all thoughts of water gone, and back under the covers. You're too panicky to notice that the tapping has stopped.
You hear a sigh, what you thought was the wind before. It's by the door.
You can't move.
Whatever it is has you paralysed, at it's mercy. There's nothing you can do. It sighs again, closer, and you can smell it's rancid breath.
You feel something on your leg. Sudden, unbearable pain follows. The pressure moves up your thigh, and the pain follows. It's as if your very flesh was rotting away. It reaches your stomach. If you could move, you would've screamed, doubled up in pain. It's terrible.
Your lungs collapse. You can't breathe. Then, suddenly, it's gone. The pain, it's gone. It fades. But, so does everything else. It's over. You're gone. Slowly, but surely, you die.
And slowly, but surely, the tapping starts again.

Cupboards

You know it's there. In those cupboards. Even though it's quiet, you know. You can just tell that something's there, waiting. Perhaps it's waiting for you to open the door. Perhaps, it's just waiting for the opportune moment. Maybe it's both. If you don't open the door, it might leave the cupboard when you're not looking. It'll change hiding places. The cupboard, the basement, your wardrobe, under your bed, around the corner. . .
Eventually, it will get you. And when it does. . . Let's just say it's not quick, and it's far from painless.
It enjoys killing.
Especially once you know it's there.

A weird one.

I have walked through many wonders of this world, all throughout time. I have seen it all.
Or so I thought. For I have discovered you. There is nothing on this planet at any time more beautiful than your face, when contorted in a scream only achievable through the utmost terror. I have found a reason to stay in this world. For there is nothing in Hell comparable to this. In this, there are many lifetimes of entertainment. Yes, many lifetimes. For I shall keep you with me beyond your pitiful lifetime. Unknowingly, you shall be my plaything for millennia. You will, of course, die, as all you pitiful humans do. But I shall give you the gift of reincarnation. Well, it's a gift in my eternal eyes. A gift to myself. You shall go about your day-to-day life in a state of total paranoia. There shall be no escape, I will follow you everywhere. If you tell anyone about the terrible creature that has been following you, torturing you, they will put you in a nice, soft, quiet room. Well, it would be quiet if it weren't for your screams. For in that room, you and I would be alone.
I will enjoy your many suicides. It'll be a nice break, watching you torture and kill yourself. Because, of course, dying is no escape. The only outcome of death for you is a nice, fresh, new body, and total ignorance. A fresh start for me...
You'd better try get some sleep. You have a long day ahead of you.
Not that I'll let you sleep, of course.