masturcation from memoriam by GEHENNA WORLD

they told her to just tough it out.
everyone did.
so she tried to.
but night after night she would wake up squarely at 4:44 AM
to a presence outside her apartment door.
she couldn't see it but she knew it was there.
she never dared to leave her bed. its unseen but very felt presence would fill her with utmost fear and she would simply hunch down in her covers as she would as a child when lightning would roll across the sky followed by the violent crashing of thunder that would jar her from her sleep.
sixteen minutes later, when the neon-red digits of the alarm clock would flash 5:00, she would hear it turn and meander down the hallway, a gruesome and irregular squelching sound that brought to mind gory images such as feet made purely of glistening, grotesque flesh.
only when she would hear its footsteps fade away would the tension release its grip on her shoulders; exhaustion would hit her like a truck as she realized how tired she still was and she'd drift off to sleep once again.
but that didn't keep it out of her thoughts.
almost like with every visit, telegraphing itself into her mind...it was forcing its way in.
and every day she would think about it more and more. the gruesome fleshy "feet" her mind painted. the odd, slow back-and-forth lumbering motion she could picture; a creature made of soft tissue and gore, but at the same time stiff and statue-like, almost as if air had frozen its skin-like flesh in place.
it was disgusting. it was horrifying. she hated it. it would barge into her mind at the worst of times like intrusive thoughts would, immediately erasing any smile off her face and dampening her mood for the rest of the day. it was fucking putrid and just downright foul. she hated it. she hated it so much.
she'd asked to break her lease--a costly maneuver, but at least she could sleep at night on her friend's couch. the problems didn't start until she'd moved into that one apartment, after all. she drifted off into a grudgingly-reassured sleep.
she woke up on the couch in a pool of sweat. the red digital clock on the retro VCR shone 4:44.
pangs of fear struck in every nerve in her body. it stabbed her in the brain and ripped its way into her heart.
the couch was facing the front door of the house.
the front door had a semi-circular window at the very top.
there it was.
a pale, bald, fleshy visage with sunken holes where its eyes should have been...a disgusting, concave fold where its mouth should have been...
it was boring its gaze right into her
the door handle was quivering

i hate music and mixing. i hate sound

- ASHURA

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