MidnightScreams

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[Journal Entry #1 – October 3rd, 2024]

I have found my new sanctuary beneath the city, a place where time holds its breath. The abandoned station, marked as "Carroway Terminal," does not appear on any map. It exists in whispers and fleeting memories, a secret forgotten by all but the shadows that linger here. It is fitting, I suppose, for one such as myself. A prophet unheard, left to rot beneath the earth.

I write now not for myself, but for whoever may one day stumble upon these pages. They must know what lurks here, what breathes beneath the iron and dust. I hear it already. It has begun to notice me.

[Journal Entry #4 – October 6th, 2024]

There is something down here.

I saw it first in the reflection of a shattered window. A shape that was not my own, watching from the far end of the platform where no light dares to reach. It shifted as I moved, melting into the darkness like ink spilled into water.

I convinced myself it was nothing, that my solitude was playing tricks upon me. But last night, as I lay in my makeshift cot, I heard something scraping against the tile floors. Not the rats. Not the settling of ancient stone. Something deliberate. Something patient.

It is watching me. And it is waiting.

[Journal Entry #7 – October 8th, 2024]

The lights flicker in patterns I do not understand. They pulse like a heartbeat, a slow, crawling rhythm that has embedded itself into my own. I no longer feel hunger, yet my body wastes away. I no longer feel thirst, yet my throat burns as if filled with sand.

And then, there is the voice. Not spoken, not whispered, but pressed into my mind like a brand searing my thoughts. It does not speak in words, but in feelings—cold, vast, hungry. It has always been here. It is not bound by time, nor flesh, nor the frail logic of men.

It waits. It watches. It feeds.

[Journal Entry #11 – October 12th, 2024]

I awoke to find my reflection gone.

The shards of broken glass I use as my mirror now show only the empty station behind me. But I know I am still here. My hands still move. My breath still forms in the chilled air. And yet, my reflection is no more.


I am being erased.

[Final Entry – Date Unknown]

I understand now. Carroway Terminal was never abandoned. It was swallowed. The city above does not remember it, because it was never truly part of the city to begin with. It is something else entirely, a wound in reality, an entrance to something deeper.

I am no longer alone. The Devourer stands before me now, shifting in and out of sight like a flame in the wind. It has no face, no eyes, but I feel its gaze burrowing into me. It knows I have seen too much.

This journal will remain, but I will not. My words are my final offering to those who dare to step into the forgotten places of this world.

Do not follow me. Do not seek Carroway Terminal.

Because if you do, it will already be waiting for you.