Screams in the night

For about a week now there have been screams, but they don't sound as though they come from a human throat, unless the human throat could contort in such a way to give this soul wrenching howl of torture. In some ways it reminds me of peacocks but there are no peafowl anywhere nearby. Foxes bark and crows and ravens have a raucous throat rending caw, but this is different. I've heard parrots squawk and birds of all kinds give their melodious and strange cries, but never anything like this. The screams haunt my waking hours and intrude into my dreams, leaving a sense of other worldliness that borders on the fantastic, and not in a good way. For some reason, I recognize the screams but can put neither name nor face to them and yet they stir something I thought long dead and asleep within that wakes and reaches from the bleak darkness toward the light, wanting to be reborn to enliven horrors left dormant and silent within.

The screams have finally stopped, but the effect lingers like the the slime trail of a subterranean slug, glittering and shimmering foully whenever light illuminates the path, except there is no stench, no scent, no effluvia but mental chaos.

I'm going to go back to sleep and when I wake maybe the screams, like the wakening darkness, will be gone, just a fever dream or nightmare from too much chastity or too little . . . something.

That is all. Disperse.