Echoes of Silence

Sanity is fleeting. Failing me. Need an outlet to talk into. Preserve thoughts. Preserve mind. Thin air makes me think I am talking to It. Even acknowledging it is dangerous. Even when it does not seem to be here. Once It catches me and puts an end to this hunt, perhaps this will prove beneficial to the next unlucky prey. Should always leave something behind to be remembered by. Otherwise existence is meaningless.

I do not know what It is. I do not know why it hunts me. I do not even know for certain what it wants. Questions. So many questions. I am not the only one I am sure. Other prey. It is not always around, even though it feels otherwise at times. Where does it go? Where does it live? How does it live? Is it alive? Is it a Ghost? A demon?

Perhaps it is an angel. Or God. I do not know. Dumah is an appropriate name however.  Angel of silence. The stillness of death. A lurking shadow.

Why does it appear the way it does? Tall. 8-9 Feet estimate. No sensory organs upon the face. No eyes. How does it see? No ears. How does it hear? No mouth or nose. How does it breathe? Or does it need to do none of these things? It's physiology from a pure superficial standpoint is alien. There is nothing like it upon the earth. Pale skin. Hairless. Implies limited sunlight and cold exposure. Yet it appears in sunlight quite often. Even appeared standing in the snow. Creatures affected by cold grow hair to block it out. So is it unaffected by cold? Why the pale skin? Implies limited exposure to sunlight. Sunlight should be unpleasant to it. But it isn't. Indeed it seems to prefer appearing in daylight. But not always. No cycle of sleep. Neither nocturnal nor diurnal. No time of weakness. No time of escape.

How does it move the way it does? Filling a space of empty air. Is it merely invisible unless it wishes to be? How does it move to impossible to reach locations? Doors and walls serve as no obstacle. Yet perhaps it is invisible. No one but me seemed to see it. They walked by oblivious to something that should have sent them into a mindless panic as it did me. Why could I see it and no one else? It existed. It was not my imagination. How could it be? I felt it. I have wounds to prove it. Was it that I could see it and no one else? Or that It wanted only me to see it. To tell me I was marked.
More disturbingly than any of that was it's manner of dress. Clothes. It wore clothes. A finely tailored suit. It reminded me of my time in New York. Wall Street. Filled with a swarm of businessmen. I remember their manner of dress. Suits and ties. Dress Pants. But their faces were gone. Lost in the sea of memory. Strangers without faces. Just like It. This proves that It is not a mindless creature. It thinks. It knows. It watches.

My objectives are thus:

1. Learn about my tormenter. Discover any shred of knowledge that I can. To protect myself.

2. Find out about any other cases similar to mine. Need to know if there are others that might help.

3. Above All. At Any Cost. Survive.