They don’t get it.

Really, they don’t. They read /x/ or /b/ or anything on the 4chan forum and they think nothing can scare them. They think every meme is cool, that if you say someone’s name; he’ll take you away. That’s pure bullshit. No, my friends, the truth is scarier.

You ask yourself what mind could possibly be this dark, this deranged to think up things that scare people and make them see things that aren’t there. I would say that the author is the dark itself, but that would be too damn clichéd for words. Truth is, the dark is scared of it. You ask, what could be scarier than the dark? Murderers? Rapists? Clowns? Intangible monsters that stalk you in your dreams? No, everything you can think of is scared shitless by one thing.

It’s taken me my entire life to find out what it is…and now I’m an old man. I can see Death slowly walking toward me. His scythe is gripped tight in one bony hand as if to ward off his terror. I’m getting weaker as he comes closer, but in an act of mercy, he seems to have stopped – within arm’s length. I see his jaw moving silently; literally speaking dead words. I can feel myself slipping away silently. My fingers clench hard around an object – the thing that even Death himself fears. I can hear people outside. The doctors are now rushing in, priming their machines and getting ready to revive me.

What fools.

They’re trying to pry open my grip. They want it. No, they want to get it away from me…but I’ll die. I don’t want to die. I need to tell the world what it is. No…my heart clenches suddenly. I’m dying, but I’ll be damned if I go silently. I inhale air into my dying lungs and strain to listen. They say that I need to let the object go and they’ll take care of me. I gasp and wheeze a warning out – that Death is in the corner of the room and will kill me if they take it away. They just smile and shake their heads. No…my fingers are slipping. I can’t hold onto it any longer. Those fools have got me all wrong. I struggle to keep my grip…no. Those fools have taken it away. I see Death moving in silently; scythe at the ready. They keep saying to me that Death is all in my mind and I’m not really an 85-year-old man. I scream out in a loud voice that belies my age.

“No, no! You fools! You’ve got me all wrong!”

I feel the last of my life drain out from me as the first screams begin…