The Leash of Hollow Stars

The first time I tried to summon something, I didn’t know what I was doing. I found an old book in a library that was about to be demolished, and it had a chapter on ‘consorting with the lower orders.’ I thought it was a joke, but one night, after too much wine, I drew the circle, lit the candles, and said the words. Nothing happened. I laughed and went to bed.

Three nights later, I dreamed of a thing that was almost human, but wrong. Its skin was slick, like a frog’s, and its eyes were too wide, too yellow. It chased me through a forest of dead trees, and when it caught me, it pressed me to the ground, its weight impossibly heavy. It didn’t say anything, but its breath was warm and thick, and it tried to… well, you know. I woke up screaming.

After that, I started feeling things. A cool hand on my shoulder when I was alone. A whisper of air against my neck, like someone breathing close. The temperature in my apartment would drop for no reason, and my cat would hiss at empty corners. I told myself it was my imagination, but I couldn’t sleep without all the lights on.

A few weeks ago, I decided to try again. I was desperate to understand this thing that had attached itself to me. Maybe I could make it leave, or at least talk to it. So I set up the circle again, but this time I used a different ritual, one that promised to ‘open the door to what you most desire.’ I fell asleep before I even finished.

That night, I dreamed of a woman. She was beautiful, with shoulder-length gold hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. She wore a dress that seemed to be made of moonlight, and she smiled at me like she knew all my secrets. She didn’t speak, but she walked toward me, and I couldn’t move. She knelt over me, her hair brushing my face, and then she lay on top of me, her weight warm and real. I could feel her heartbeat. I woke up with a gasp, my chest still tingling.

That was a few days ago. Since then, the touches have become more insistent. When I’m in the shower, I feel hands on my hips. When I’m at my desk, something cold whispers across my ear. And I’ve started to remember the angel I used to dream about as a child—a tall figure with wings like old barn wood, who lived in the hayloft of our abandoned farmhouse. I used to talk to him for hours. He never spoke, but I knew he was watching over me.

Now I believe that whatever I’ve awakened is not just one thing. It’s a doorway, and both of them are trying to come through. The frog-thing wants my body, but the woman and the angel—they want something else. They want my soul, and they’re fighting over it.

Last night, I had the worst dream yet. I was back in the barn, but it wasn’t the barn of my childhood. The wood was rotted, and the air smelled of mud and decay. The angel was there, but he was chained to the wall, his feathers black and dripping. The frog-thing was crouched in the corner, and the woman was standing in the middle, her eyes glowing. They all turned to look at me, and the angel spoke for the first time. His voice was like a rusty gate.

‘You called us,’ he said. ‘You opened the door. Now you must choose.’

Choose what? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t. The woman smiled, and the frog-thing croaked, and the angel shook his head slowly.

‘Choose which one of us you give yourself to. But be careful—once you choose, the others will never forgive you.’

I woke up with a scream, and I haven’t slept since. But I still feel them, all three of them, circling me, waiting. And tonight, I know they’ll come back. They want an answer.

I don’t know what to do. I’m not even sure this is real. But if you’re reading this, and you know anything about rising things, please help me. I can’t hold them off much longer. And I’m afraid that if I choose wrong, I’ll lose more than my life. I’ll lose my soul.

(And I still haven’t learned how to make it stop. The rituals only made it worse. Maybe there’s a way to banish them, or to sever the link. But I don’t have much time. They’re in my room right now. I can hear them breathing. I think they’re here.)