I can't tell if they were real, yet if they had happened I dare not say what it feels, said the man to himself in a hospital bed. With an excruciating pain in his look cried: "my dreams, wild horrible, sad..." the the man in the bed hardened his muscles, as if he was going to fall into a deep abyss trying to get a hold of something. Then he opened his eyes, he was sleeping awake. His look, dazzled, his eyes widely opened were looking at nothing. I could see those eyes —and familiar were those to me—, blue as a summer's cloudless sky, yet they were bathed in little red veins. No sooner had the man calmed, I spoke. "there's something you should know." As the poor devil in the bed listened, he looked from corner to corner as if there was an angel talking to him; maybe and answer to all his questions. After all he looked baffled.

As I admired amazed, my subject screamed in terror. A panting, horrid, throaty scream, he let out; his shouts resounded as the roars of a beast enclosed asking to be freed. Suddenly, his eyes went blank, the man convulsed in a raving rhythm. His skin, Caucasian, reddened as his convulsions shaked his body. His veins stressed from his skin as a person's silhouette on a sheet; he was bathed in sweat, I could clearly see his suffering. Then I freezed; and within the coldness I felt in my back, I fainted.

I woke up, my reaction was the same after drinking litres of alcohol non-stop; I didn't remembered anything of the past few days. I was at home, in my mind —as flies over rancid meat— ghastly visions flashed. I can't tell if they were real, neither if they had happened. It was 3 a.m. When I recovered consciousness. As soon as I looked outside, it was foggy, dark, and cold. In the streets I could only see a few shining spots —I figured they were lamps. But something was different, however I knew I was at home; I didn't feel like it.

My room was dark and silent, but the soft light of the street lamps enlightened a little my sad dwelling. My body was resting in the floor as if somebody had dropped me there. I stood up and tried the switches to turn on the light, none worked. Then, I Headed to the closet, in which I remembered to have put a flashlight. Suddenly was I digging that mysterious cavern, in the very end of it, I found a strange leathered box. To the touch it felt as a lizard's skin, but it was black, and also scaly. On the surface it had some weird, but evil like carvings that shone with ectoplasmic green light. On its top there was an eye; a closed eye. I dreaded, but I took it. As I lifted the box, I found the lamp hiding behind it.

I moved to the small living room, placed the odd box in a centre table, turned on the lamp and tried to see in full detail that strange and unwelcome visitor. The he lock of the box was big. I headed back to the closet to search for the key to open that mysterious leather box. I remembered not having closed the closet, but it was shut. The door needed no key to lock, but it was like sealed. Then a cold —like the one that is felt when water runs down one's back— made me shiver.

Suddenly, in an eye-blink, the lights faded, and it became dark once again. Yet the box —the warm-skinned box— shone in an inexplicable manner. Again, its carvings were giving a freaky rotten green light. All the room was deathly dark and silent; though I could not see any furniture, but the box's shine. Even though I tried to look away, that hypnotic light guided my eyes towards it; towards that devilish being. Soon I realised that I had lost control over my body; nonetheless I felt the need to get away, I couldn't.

From the box, there came out inhuman horrid rotten voices. As I heard those voices —more like yells—, my ears bled in agony, my arms moved uncontrolled as if I had strings that had been pulled by a demonic puppeteer. My torso's skin moved as if something was crawling underneath. My face was hot, I was sweating. Then, at once it stopped; and finally I died. Now I watch how my body, taken by somebody else's soul, convulse in agony and die once again in a hospital bed.