The New Gods Of Central New York
A man was leaning against the guest room door at the end of the hall. He looked to be about 65- or 70-years-old, but he wasn’t a “normal” man by any means. He was pretty much engulfed in a “smoky aura” and he himself had no color to him — he was grey. His face was the kicker. He looked more like a gorilla than a man and donned a creepy “I got you” smile. I ran under my bed and brought out my gun, but as soon as I went back into the hall, he was gone. I spent the rest of the night with my pistol on my nightstand and the TV at full volume.
The next morning I woke up feeling like death. The cold draft was back. It kept crossing my bed over and over again. The tingling feeling was also back, but this time, it was a lot stronger. It was so bad that it felt like my hands were vibrating. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. My hands felt normal after I did. I wanted to skip the meeting that night, but for some reason I felt like I HAD to go, like I NEEDED to go. I spent the day relaxing, because my anxiety was going crazy about the meeting.
At 7:30, I put on my suit and punched the address into my phone’s GPS. It was surprisingly in a prominent office building in downtown Syracuse. The whole ride there, I felt ill. I kept having the urge to find a place to turn around, but it felt like something was forcing me to go.
As soon as I entered the lobby, the security guard looked terrified. I approached him to hand him the invitation. The man flinched as soon as I put my arm out, and snatched the flyer from my hand like he was afraid to touch me. I got a good look at his hands — they were scratched to hell.