Dear Reader,

​

​

I am not a man. I'm a monster. This is not a website. It's a doorway. You are not a stranger. You are finally home.

​

By the time you've read the above, it will have already started. The Seed entering your head, burrowing deeper and deeper, on the hunt for the place where it's safe, where no one can dig in and excavate it, not with fingernails nor hooks nor scalpels. It's headed for the subconscious. That's where it will make its home. That's where its children will first learn to whisper.

​

It's probably already over. You just don't know it yet. Too bad the Seed can't pay you rent. It plans on staying awhile. 

​

Don't bother going to the doctor. Don't bother being frightened. It's too late for that.

​

Embrace it.

​

As it has already embraced you.

​

You're starting to feel it now, aren't you? Something. You're not sure what yet. A slight, unexplainable unease? Perhaps you've felt a crawler on your skin turning, not left or right, but inward. On its way to the Seed. Whatever you're experiencing, it's normal. It hits everyone different. Take solace in the fact that there's nothing you could've done and it'll all be over soon.

​

Soon-ish.

​

In the meantime, take a look around, try to understand what's happening to you. 

Walk through the doorway. 

​

There's a monster on the other side whose eager to meet you.

​

                                                                             Sincerely,

                                                                 Andrew Martin Robinson