BAD VISION

My name is Gerald Taft. I'm told my vision is impaired. "Near-sighted," the doctor says, ever so detached. Something about the shape of my eye. I just call it bad vision. With my glasses on, no problems. The problem isn't what I see with my glasses. It's what I see without them.

The first time it happened, I was twelve. I'd misplaced my glasses and was fumbling around my room, squinting at blurred shapes. From the corner of my eye, just inside my peripheral vision, something moved. That's when I saw Them. They looked like shadows but darker, darker than the shadows cast by my furniture. They moved unnaturally, like ink spilled on motor oil slipping over and across everything. I froze, my heart pounding. I turned to look directly at it, and it vanished, leaving behind a chill that still haunts my bones. I told myself it was nothing. A trick of the light, just my bad vision. But deep down, I knew better. I'd seen Them. I wasn't supposed to, but I did.

You've seen Them; you just don't realize what you've seen. Fleeting, almost transparent shadows dancing at the edge of your vision. They're quick, melting away the moment you try to focus on Them. If you don't see Them, that's alright; count yourself lucky. They don't see us either, not unless it's your time or They know you've spotted Them. Once that happens, there's no going back. They'll always be there, just out of sight. Waiting. There are times when you can hear Them. The sound you dismiss as the wind rattling your door? The creak of floorboards above or below, yet you're the only one home? That's Them, moving through our world unseen, unnoticed, unknown. In a crowd, you swear a familiar voice called your name. You turn, scanning the crowd, searching for the source, but you find nothing, not a familiar face or even a warm smile. That's Them too, testing the waters, seeing if you'll respond. If you can see Them, so They can see you.

My mother was the first person who believed me. When I finally worked up the courage to tell her about what I'd seen, her face went pale. "You can see Them too, son?" she whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief. She told me she'd been seeing Them for years. "They're like leeches," she said, her voice trembling. "Feeding on the sick and weak. They sense when someone's essence is decaying, and They gather, waiting to feed." I didn't understand what she meant then. Not until she became ill.

The day I visited her in the hospital, the room was dim. The only light came from the muted TV and the various machines keeping my mother alive. I'd taken my glasses off to rub my tired eyes when I saw Them. They were everywhere, more than I'd ever seen before. They clung to the walls, hung from the ceiling like living shadows, their forms undulating and pulsing. Some had elongated limbs that ended in wispy tendrils. Others were amorphous masses of darkness, their edges constantly blurring and shifting . But the worst were the ones gathered around my mother's bed. They loomed over her, their bodies seeming to absorb what little light was in the room. I watched, hysterical but unable to scream, as one of Them slid into my mother's open mouth. Another touched my mother's forehead, and I saw... something... pass between them, a faint haze the creature seemed to inhale. The shadow beings quivered in what I can only describe as ecstasy. The heart monitor went crazy; I watched terrified as that thing sucked the life right out of my mother.

I pushed another scream back down my throat, then fumbled to put my glasses on. In an instant, they were gone, the room returning to normal. But the damage was done. My mother died three days later. Her life drained away by something I couldn't explain and nobody could see.

From that day on, I'd catch glimpses of Them in the reflection of store windows and mirrors, their dark forms twisting and churning behind me only to vanish when I turned around. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I'd wake to find my room filled with unnatural darkness and tiny points of light that looked like stars. But they weren't stars - they were eyes, hundreds of Them, all fixed on me.

These days, I wear my glasses at all times, even when I'm sleeping. It's not foolproof - sometimes I sense Them, a heaviness in the air that makes it hard to breathe. The sudden drop in temperature that makes your breath fog. A way shadows seem to deepen and move against the light. The feeling of being watched by hungry eyes. As bad as it is, it's better than the alternative.

The worst part, is the isolation. How do you explain to someone about Them? Tell them their own shadows could be one of Them? That you're afraid to take off your glasses? I tried, once, telling a friend. The look of concern mixed with pity on his face was enough to ensure I never made that mistake again.

So, I live with it, this secret, a world most people can't - or won't - see. Sometimes, I see people on the street who I know can see Them too. There's a look in their eyes, a wariness in the way they move, constantly glancing over their shoulders. We never speak of it, but there's a silent understanding between us. We're the ones who know, the ones who live with the constant fear of what lurks just beyond our vision. These aren't aliens, ghosts or ghouls. They're something else, something that's always been here, feeding on us like we're cattle.

The truly terrifying thing is they're not content with just watching anymore. Lately, I've been noticing changes. The shadows seem darker, more substantial. I've caught glimpses of Them even with my glasses on, their forms becoming clearer each time. And sometimes, when I'm alone in the dark, I swear I can hear Them whispering, their voices like the rustle of dead leaves.

I swore I wouldn't tell anybody else; I don't want Them to know. But now you know, and they know we know. So, I'm writing this as a warning. If you've seen Them, if you've felt Their presence, know that you're not alone.

If you're reading this, that means I didn't make it.

Be careful. Don't let Them know you can see Them. Keep your glasses on and a nightlight burning. Whatever you do, don't look too closely at the shadows. Once they know you can see Them, they'll never leave you alone.

Some things, once seen, can never be unseen.