I. The Fear That Is formless
Fear—a concept difficult to comprehend, let alone accept. It is not an entity that can be seen or touched, but a subtle vibration that slithers in the void between awareness and ignorance. What seems ordinary to some—the sound of the night wind, the shadows stretching under the evening light—might actually be a gateway to something deeper, more insidious, and destructive. But what could be more terrifying than what is seen? What about the fear of something unknown—something that stands tall beyond the boundaries of human logic and understanding?
The most heartbreaking thing about fear is the reality that we, humans, never truly know what has happened... and more sadly, what lies ahead. We are but small creatures trapped in an illusion of comprehension—hanging by thin threads of perception that can snap at any moment when touched by the unseen. Can we imagine the existence of an ancient entity that has lived millions of years before the first human kindled fire? A force not bound by time, form, or life as we know it?
William Carter—my uncle—was a man lost in the corridors of thoughts never accepted by society. He was a physicist, yet his soul was always drawn to the edge between science and the supernatural. In 1972, while on vacation in China, something happened—an event that not only changed him but also dragged me into the same shadow.
In his diary—a manuscript filled with odd notes, unknown symbols, and theories beyond reach—there was one entry that stood out. It described a strange event in the South China Sea. William, supposedly to study tides from a ‘metaphysical’ perspective, had rented a small boat. But what he found was not the usual turbulence of water—it was something that transcended all physical laws.
He wrote:
"The sea... does not move as it should. It breathes—like something alive. It was not the wind that stirred it, but something rising from below. A very ancient force is shaking. The sky darkened in the middle of the day. And that voice... a voice that did not come from the throat of a human, but from a depth that cannot be translated. It whispered to me that I had stepped into a realm that should not be known."
William returned to America a few weeks later—yet he was not the same man. His gaze was empty, and his soul seemed to have been sucked into a place from which no human could return. His house in Lost Pines, isolated from the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles, became his living tomb. He withdrew, no longer answering calls, not speaking, not touching the world. Only the diary remained—an inheritance more burdensome than I could bear.
After his death, I studied the final pages of his diary—and the maps he kept. From there, I began to realize that this was not just a story of a man losing his sanity. The maps were full of ancient symbols—warnings perhaps left by a time drowned in forgotten history. One marked location caught my attention: a remote spot in the South China Sea—a small island, which according to William’s notes, was a gateway to something that should not be known by man.
Since then, every night, the dreams came—not vague dreams, but experiences too real. The ocean was darker than usual, stretching endlessly before me. Something was moving beneath it—something too large, too old... and too aware. The voice grew clearer, seeping deep into my mind, calling something within me that I did not know existed.
Now I realize, I have stepped into the circle that once ensnared William. The urge grows stronger—a pull that cannot be explained by logic or feeling. I can no longer turn back. This journey began long before I was born. And now, I am heading to a place that should never be tread by humans—a destination that holds knowledge too terrifying to accept.
And there... at the bottom of the quiet and dense sea... something is waiting.
II. The Voice from the Depths
Since I opened that map—and read William’s last words, which seemed to have been written in a semi-conscious state—I began to feel a strange change within me. Not just the dreams that grew more urgent, but also odd sounds that began to haunt my waking hours. Whenever I was alone, even in perfect silence, there was a faint echo that slipped into my ears—like a whisper in a language I had never learned, but strangely, I understood.
That language... did not carry meaning in the usual sense. It was a sequence of vibrations—rhythms that penetrated the walls of reality and pierced straight into my consciousness. It demanded, called, and sometimes, commanded. I did not know how to refuse it, and the longer I stayed, the more I did not want to.
On a night without stars—one where it seemed as though the sky itself refused to look upon the earth—I sat in front of William’s diary, flipping through the pages that were beginning to yellow. My hand trembled as I read a phrase written in faded red ink:
"Do not go there—but if you have already heard His voice, you have been chosen. That island... is not just a door, but a key. He waits. He dreams, and His dreams are real."
At that moment, a chill crawled up my neck. I knew what I had to do, though my entire body resisted—I had to go there. To the heart of the South China Sea, to the island that did not exist on any modern map, yet was clearly marked in William’s manuscript.
I began to plan the journey, though deep in my heart, I knew this was no tourist trip or scientific expedition. It was a summons. A fate that I inherited, not by choice, but because an ancient chain had wrapped itself around my soul long before I came to know this world.
And now, as everything was prepared—the tickets, the boat, the supplies, and the printed copies of William’s map—I could only remain silent and wait for the dawn. The sea awaited. And at the bottom of that sea, the voice grew louder—waiting for me to return... or perhaps, waiting for me to disappear into His eternal dream.
The sky was still a deep gray as I boarded the small boat from a remote fisherman's port, far from the city of Sanya. The South China Sea stretched wide before me, black and endless, as if it were breathing slowly—like a sleeping creature waiting to rise.
The map left by William was carefully folded in my backpack, protected by thick plastic. The strange symbols etched upon it—a spiral meeting at the center, a single eye gazing upwards, and arcs like the claws of some ancient beast—all formed coordinates that were vague yet sufficient to guide me.
The journey took more than two hours. At first, the sea was calm, but as I neared the marked point, the waves began to change. They did not rage, nor did they strike like a normal storm, but circled slowly, surrounding something unseen. My digital compass began to spin aimlessly. The radio became static. The sky grew darker, even though it was nearing midday.
At last, the silhouette of an island appeared on the horizon—dark and uninhabited, covered in a thin mist that did not shift even as the wind blew. The land was rocky and harsh, with strange trees whose leaves shimmered like scales. There were no bird calls, no hum of insects. Only silence—a silence that pierced to the bone.
I moored the boat and stepped onto the land not recorded on any modern map. Every step felt heavy, as if the ground itself rejected my presence. There were carvings on the large rocks scattered along the shore—carvings of strange creatures with bulging eyes, mouths wide open as if screaming, and tongues that split and drooped downward. In the center, a black monolith stood, half-embedded in the earth, covered in ancient green moss.
I walked toward it.
And as my hand touched its cold, hard surface, a voice, not from outside but from within my mind, whispered in a tone that pierced:
"You have come... and the door will be opened once more."
The sky grew darker as soon as I touched the monolith, as if the clouds moved to block the daylight. The wind, which had only gently brushed earlier, now shifted to a rush that carried the salty sea scent mixed with something foul—the smell of damp earth, mold, and something else, something I could not place... like flesh long decayed yet still alive.
I kept walking, following the narrow path naturally carved between the large rocks and the strange trees that seemed to whisper as I passed by. The whispering could not be heard by normal ears, but I knew it was there—in the form of a faint echo inside my skull.
Minutes later, I reached the entrance to a cave hidden behind a stone wall covered in old green moss. Its mouth was narrow, like a crack made by some great blow centuries ago. Around it were signs of ritual—red paintings encircling the entrance, made from a substance I could not determine. It was not paint, and it was not dry.
I turned on the flashlight and stepped inside.
The temperature dropped instantly. The air inside the cave felt thick, as if it was moving slowly. The light danced on the wet stone walls, revealing strange engravings—spirals, eight-legged creatures, and circles of eyes always facing the same direction... inward.
The deeper I went, the louder the whispers became. They were no longer just one voice. Now, it was hundreds—layered, speaking in a language I had never heard, but somehow... I understood. They spoke of the "Time Before Time," the "Covenant of the First Blood," and the "Hidden One in the Nameless Sleep."
Then I came to a large chamber—a vast, high underground hall, filled with carvings on every surface. In the center stood a structure resembling an altar made of shiny black stone, decorated with skulls of various sizes and shapes—some human, some not.
I approached it.
And at that moment, the earth trembled faintly. Not a tremor like an earthquake, but a pulse—a heartbeat coming from deep within the earth.
The voice returned, now louder, clearer... and it called my name.
My name.
III. In the Heart of Stone
My name echoed throughout that vast chamber—not through the air, but from within my bones. It was not spoken, but known. Like a voice that lived under every memory I had ever held, waiting for the moment to speak.
My flashlight flickered, then went out completely.
But the space was not dark. The walls, the floor, the altar—began to glow from within, emitting a pale greenish light, as if veins of luminescence that had long been hidden beneath its surface were now exposed. From beneath the altar, the earth slowly parted, not cracking but unfolding, like the petals of a stone flower long buried.
I could not move, yet I descended. My feet moved on their own, without the consent of my mind.
The path led me into a darkness that did not require light. Here, reality no longer adhered to its laws. The voices sang in rhythms that did not exist, and the cave walls breathed like the lungs of an ancient being. I knew—I was stepping into Him.
And at the end, I saw N’rahal-Toth.
It did not sit, nor stand, nor exist in any one form—it was the space itself. The walls were its skin, the glowing veins were its nerves, and the voices were the beats of its heart, dreaming. An eye opened from the stone before me—a gaze that did not search, but stared into everything. I was compelled to kneel without awareness, and from the ground, stone tongues slowly reached out, touching my forehead.
Everything opened.
I saw time before time. I heard the screams of stars being born. I witnessed creatures from dimensions that had no direction, worshipping something too large to name. I know now, this world is but a small ripple in the sleeping ocean of His. I know now, William was not mad.
I was found floating near the island by local fishermen. They said I did not speak for three days, only staring at the sky with wide-open eyes and muttering without sound.
Now I return home.
But it is not home anymore.
Every night, I burn with fever—a heat not from my body, but from within my mind. I dream of being trapped in a breathing stone tunnel, of eyes that never close, of creatures lining up singing my name. Some days, I wake and my fingers tremble endlessly, writing symbols I never learned on the walls and floors.
I cannot eat meat. It makes me vomit blood. I cannot be in a silent room, for in that silence, His voice returns... and it is no longer a whisper. It gives commands.
The doctor says I suffer from "post-traumatic psychosis." But how can they treat something that does not come from ordinary trauma, but from an encounter with something that should never exist?
William tried to write everything. I, however... I know I am changing. Sometimes I look at my face in the mirror and do not recognize the eyes staring back. Sometimes my voice sounds like someone else’s. Sometimes, I see my skin... pulse.
And last night, I dreamed... but not as myself. I dreamed as N’rahal-Toth. I dreamed as Him.
