My mother told me the stories of the village beyond the mountains. The one covered in fog, where the Shadow people gave what they had, and their days would last for months. I was told the Shadows were of those long Forgotten, and made of memories that didn't exist. They say that if you wander far enough, for long enough, you'll become a memory yourself. They say people are kept there by something that feeds on their memories, until they become the Shadows, empty shells of those once known. In our village, they were just stories. Stories with no origin. With no beginning, and with no end. No one knows where it came from or where it will go. But we do know there's something in those mountains. Beyond the Fog That Never Lifts, we can hear them. The screams, the cries, the laughter.
Some even claim to have seen the Beast itself, holding all the memories of the world—memories since before the dawn of creation. Before even God himself could think horrors.
"Nonsense," my father would tell me. "The sounds beyond the Fog come from just another village. A human village, not some shadow place." Was there even another village out there? Our own is the only world my people have ever known. Those who ventured out for more never returned. To this he always said, "They've simply found another village, and stayed there."
I asked him once, "Is that where Mom went to?" Did she find another home, someplace to live without me? I still remember the pain on my father's face when I said that. What I didn't remember was my mother. But I remember her now.
I recall walking through the village late one night, when I heard a noise. I had been admiring the small blue flowers growing between tall straight trees that almost touched the dreary skies. They never quite seemed to make it, though. That's when I thought I heard a woman call my name. She sounded strange. She was someone I'd never heard before. "Hello?" I called. "Is someone there? How do you know my name?" She started laughing, and I heard footsteps coming from the woods. She was walking away. I followed the sound through the dense, dark trees. We walked for a time before I realized I had never before been this far from the village. I hoped I would not lose the way back. Eventually, I noticed her steps begin to slow slightly. She started to cry, quietly at first. And then she screamed. I sprinted forward to see what had happened. I broke through the crooked trees to see my village yet again. Where is my mother? She was calling for me. Where was my father? I wonder now if I even had a father.
I write this to warn you. It's - He's close by. I'm starting to forget. But I now see that which never happened. Why can't I remember? Where am I? Who am I? I can feel him now. It was foolish to think I could run, I see that now. He hears my breath, my life itself, my being. I'm scared. I wanna go home. The closer He gets the less I sense. I can feel myself being lost to time. I know He's here.
Soon I greet him with open arms, as I breathe my last and all goes numb. The world fades as it now forgets. I'm no longer here, I never was.
And soon, you will be the same.