Noctuary: a record of what passes in the night; a nightly journal.
In the early days of his childhood, before he knew of monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, Dean Winchester kept a diary.
Most of the entries were normalājust documentations of everyday life.
Dad taught me the proper way to throw a baseball. I canāt wait until I can start playing for reals.
Today we made apple pie for Thanksgiving, and mom let me have the biggest piece.
Sammy read his first book today. Heās going to be smart, I can tell.
He would write an entry every night, just before he went to bed, and he did so for many years. Every day written down, in a special journal that Dean kept in a box under his bed. To him, it was just a nice routine, a bit of fun.
Until all of a sudden, it wasnāt.
It began when Dean was ten.
I think thereās something in my closet.
The door opens without me touching it, and sometimes I hear noises coming from inside. My room feels cold some days, and it moves around while Iām asleep. I keep my eyes closed really tight when I can hear it, and hope that it will go away.
When Dean tells his dad, John laughs it off. āThereās no monster hiding in your closet, Dean. Monsters arenāt real.ā To placate him, though, John wedges a chair under the closet handles that night before Dean goes to sleep. āThere you go,ā he says jokingly, āthe monster canāt get you tonight.
Dean is relieved. That night, he doesnāt write in his diary.
In the morning, when he wakes up, his chair is back under his desk as though it was never moved in the first place.
Deanās dad doesnāt believe him when he tells him about the monster, and his mom doesnāt listen at all, just brushes it off as his overactive imagination. His diary becomes his only outlet.
I heard the monster tonight.
Iām scared. Please send someone who can help me.
Dean writes in his diary for weeks. And in those weeks, the darkness he can feel lingering in his closet spreads dark tendrils of fear into his room. Things move, deep growls rumble through his room at night, lights flicker on and offābut it never touches Dean. Just lingers.
What itās waiting for, he doesnāt know, but he knows itās there, even though the closet is always empty whenever one of his parents open it.
For weeks, the thing spreads, and nothing happens.
And then one night, everything happens at once.
izzy806
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
