Exodus

Original artwork by Kyle Newbridge

Dearest Samantha,

By the time you read this, I will be roughly twice the length of the Asian coast away from the site of my last letter—still an infinity from where you are, if you can read this.

The cave will be either scrubbed or burnt, but there will be no evidence of my having spent time there, no remainder of the artifacts I found. I will have notes by then, and they will be the sole remainders of what was openly drawn on the walls. My own residence will also be vacated, though with a less thorough vigor than the cave.

Room 101 will be open, and I fear the worst—I know how thorough the guard’s searches are. I never entered the damned place myself, and there were no windows to see into it. Everything, at least in that room, will be exactly as it was before my arrival. Frankly, I am not sure that I would have looked if given the opportunity. From what I could gain without direct, visual witness, I do not believe I would be inclined to. Every night, precisely an hour after sunset, an incredible groaning from that room shook the entire complex. Its wails made rest impossible. If I did fall to sleep there, its moans entered my dreams.

For an entire week of the past month, it rained, and I could not walk back to my own shelter—that is when the nightmares were worst. It continually screeched after me, all night, blinded by rage or pain. I couldn’t look at it, lest I be caught and rent apart. Something horrid was happening behind that door, some great un-seeable god was being wounded, and if it is released, I do not want to be the first man it finds.

No. I will not be there when you read this. The bats will have migrated toward what I assume to be the south. I plan to follow them. If you do follow me, and I pray you don’t, follow the bats, stay in the forests, and watch out for the shifters—you’ll question them if you see them. Think you saw something. I urge you to run. God, if you have any inkling that they are following you, run.

Please don’t follow me, Samantha. I hope to see you again, somewhere safe.

I will write again soon. Take great care.

Deepest Affections,

Tomas Cohen