“Technology, is your friend!”
That was the phrase I would had almost ceremoniously drilled into my head from a rather young age. As someone who was born in the early 90s, I was alive to witness the world take the jump into the digital age, following the turn of the millennium. I grew up watching the old technology of the 20th Century. everything from analog television, to copper phone lines get phased out and replaced. all the while hearing that the new versions were better, more efficient. And safer.
And for a while, I actually believed it. I wasn’t what you would call a stickler for old tech. I moved with the times, adopting new technology as it came along. everything from broadband internet, to smartphones, to smart TVs and cars with self driving capabilities. I was excited about it all as well; hearing about a new leap in progress always excited me greatly, as it meant a step closer to the future I had seen in cartoons as a kid such as The Jetsons.
That all changed last year.
It started small enough. I would be standing or sitting somewhere, scrolling through social media on my phone, when it would glitch up and freeze on me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I had good antivirus software installed on it, so the fact that a less than two year old phone was going on the fritz annoyed me to no end.
“Friggin’ piece of crap!”
I hissed through gritted teeth as I sat at my desk during a particularly slow shift at work as my phone once again froze. then went black as it shut itself off and rebooted. Vivien, my coworker who sat in the cubicle across from me looked over with mild interest.
“Everything all right Jared?”
she asked. I shook my head.
“This stupid thing did it again to me!”
I exclaimed, quietly, so my boss wouldn’t hear I wasn’t working; even on slow shifts, he insisted we keep going to, as he put it,
“Prevent paying you to just sit on your lazy asses like you’re back in school”
She shrugged.
“Have you taken it to a repair shop to try and have the problem diagnosed?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes slightly.
“You know I have, Viv! Three times, and each one said, that my phone was running perfectly”
I said. I saw her scrunch up her face and raise a hand to play with her blonde hair. 
“Well, why not just toss it and get a new one?”
she asked. I scoffed.
“Vivien, I’ve worked here for four years. You ought to know by now I’m not into that whole disposable, throw something away as soon as it breaks or goes wonky culture”
She shrugged again.
“Suit yourself”
she said,
“But it would be a hell of a lot easier for you to just get a new one”
I shook my head and turned back to my computer, placing the now rebooted phone screen down on the desk. I may have been someone who moved with the times in terms of tech, but I didn’t like wasting money just to get rid of something after less than two or three years. I already got annoyed when people just bought or leased a car for a year, which ran perfectly fine, before hocking it and getting a single model year newer iteration, twelve months later.
When I got home that night, I hooked my phone up to my laptop, running my own diagnostic software on it. Just like with the repair men, it reported that the phone was in tip top shape, with no viruses or malware detected. Maybe Vivien is right, I thought as I climbed into bed. Maybe, just this once, I should take the L and get a new phone. As I stared at my ceiling fan, lazily spinning the abnormally warm spring air around my room, I heard my phone let out a soft ding, indicating that I’d received a text message. Rolling over, I picked it up off the table next to the bed and clicked the screen on.
"Who the hell is texting me this late?"

Before I rant about the events that brought me to this place, let me repeat my warning. Do not, under any circumstances, search for answers in your dreams. Trust me, ignorance and doubt will always be the better option. It does not matter how pressing your questions might be. Sometimes, we’re simply not meant to learn them. We’re only human, after all. I’m only here to document my story to ensure I won’t go mad, although I probably already have. Anyway, I’m rambling. Please note that I will change the names and paraphrase some things I fail to remember correctly.

It all started a few days ago. I kept waking up every night due to these nightmares. I don’t know how to describe them other than just pure malevolence clawing at me from every angle and tearing at me in an attempt to grasp me. I managed to avoid them for several nights, sometimes barely avoiding the long shadowy nails, leaving shallow scratches on my ankles. When I woke up, however, these marks were nowhere to be seen. That led me to believe that the nightmares were harmless. However, those beliefs shattered quickly when one of the creatures finally managed to get a hold of me. I jolted up as I felt the scorching flesh of that thing’s palm clutching my ankle. I believed it to be just another nightmare at first. That was until I realized that my body was unmoving. I tried my hardest to control my limbs, but none of them responded.

“You know, Eric, you’re not a bad runner. But everyone gets caught eventually. Some just take a bit longer to catch.” A deep, malicious voice boomed through my head. It was as if it came from inside my mind. I tried to respond, but my mouth didn’t move. “Oh, that just won’t do. You shouldn’t try to talk back to me, human!” it continued, mocking me with roaring laughter. A dark shape entered my field of view, appearing beside my nightstand before sitting on my bed. “You see, Eric, I’ve been watching you for a while now. Your dreams were so interesting. I truly loved observing them.” The giant shape spoke slowly as its empty sockets peered into my soul. “It’s a shame they stopped when your wife passed away, don’t you agree?” The creature took on the voice and shape of Emily, my wife. At least, she was before that drunk driver collided with her. Now she’s nothing more than an urn of ash beside my bed. I was enraged by his mockery of the woman I loved, but I couldn’t do anything to stop him. No matter how hard I ordered it to punch the thing in the face, my body didn’t react.

“I can always come back, dear,” the shape of Emily spoke in a soft tone. It sounded exactly like her. “Not in the flesh, of course. Your dreams are a different story, though.” My wife smiled, revealing sharp teeth, the only sign it was still the creature. “I ask of you that you find a way to restore your dreams to the beautiful stories I’ve grown to adore. If you don’t, I’ll have to find my amusement in different ways.” The creature lifted itself and walked toward my bedroom door. “You wouldn’t want that now, would you?” it added morbidly, causing a shiver to break my paralysis. “Wait, what are you?” I called out, but the creature merely walked through the closed door without looking back at me.

Thursday, February 16th.
This morning I awoke violently to the most dreadful sound I have ever heard. An ear-splitting screech, echoed through the hull of my boat, and the vessel came to an abrupt stop.
Quickly, I crawled out of bed and tried to gather my bearings. As I exited the bedroom, my feet were greeted by a cold splash. I looked down to see the entire floorboard covered in an inch-deep carpet of seawater.
Flurries of thoughts raced through my mind, and I began to fear the worst. As I wondered whether or not I had struck a reef, my eyes caught a glimpse of something sharp and rusty, poking out of the wall, on the starboard side of the saloon.
It was some kind of metal spike, roughly three inches in diameter. It was about chest height and had obviously impaled the hull. Water flooded in from the small openings between the spike and the hull in rhythm with the waves, as they crashed into the boat. The pulsating water was reminiscent of gushing blood erupting from a severed artery.
I rushed over to my utility closet, splashing through the water as I scuffled across the cabin. There, I began frantically rummaging through the unorganized mess of the various tools and supplies I had gathered over the years.
As I searched, I could feel the water level slowly rising. I imagined the boat as an hourglass and the water as sand. Each grain of sand that poured in through the hull, only led me closer and closer to an untimely burial at sea.
When I had finally located what I was looking for, I hurried over to the spike. There, I began sealing the cracks with waterproof tape, reinforced with some kind of fast-drying putty.
Due to the sheer size of the spike, I wasn’t able to remove it completely. Though, I wouldn’t, if I could either. The spike served as a blockade, and without it, the cabin would have been flooded in mere seconds.
I’m sure you have heard that you should never pull out a knife from a stab wound. This is because the knife aids, in sealing up the wound, preventing even more blood from pouring out.
Well, the same concept applies here.
Thankfully, stopping the leakage proved to be no challenge. But now that things have quieted down, I am beginning to realize that my problems aren’t over just yet.
I am in the middle of the Atlantic. weeks away from the nearest continent, and I am stuck here for the foreseeable future.
I went up to the deck immediately after sealing up the leak, and I discovered that the spike is actually attached to a greater structure, that runs deep beneath the ocean surface.
It almost seems to be some kind of large metal spire. It’s covered in rust and barnacles, and a great portion of it rises several feet above the water. It has four sharp spikes protruding from each side, one of which is the one that has pierced my hull.
I will investigate further tomorrow.

It was a dark and stormy night when I arrived at the hotel. The wind was howling and the rain was pouring down in sheets. The hotel looked old and creaky, with a sign that read "Grand Hotel" in fading gold letters. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The lobby was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting ominous shadows on the walls. A strange smell hung in the air, a sickly sweet odor that made my stomach churn. I approached the front desk, where a middle-aged man with greasy hair and a sleazy grin greeted me.

"Welcome to the Grand Hotel," he said, his voice oily with insincerity. "How may I assist you?"

"I have a reservation," I replied, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut.

"Ah, yes," he said, tapping away at the keyboard. "Room 213. That would be a deluxe suite. Excellent choice, sir."

As he handed me the key, his eyes lingered on me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I quickly made my way to the elevator and went up to the second floor.

The hallway was just as dimly lit as the lobby, with peeling wallpaper and creaky floorboards. I had a feeling that I was the only guest in the hotel, which made the situation even more eerie. As I reached my room, I heard noises coming from the room next door. It sounded like somebody was laughing and moaning, but it wasn't a romantic sound.

I shuddered as I unlocked the door to the suite. The room was spacious and luxurious, with a large four-poster bed and a balcony overlooking the courtyard. But there was something off about the room. It was almost as if the air was heavy with an unseen presence.

As I unpacked my bags, I heard a knock at the door. It was the receptionist.

"Mr. Johnson," he said, his eyes lingering on my body. "I hope you're enjoying your stay so far."

"I am," I lied, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

"I couldn't help but notice that you're traveling alone," he said, leaning in closer. "Perhaps I could show you around town later tonight? There's a great bar on the outskirts of town that I think you would enjoy."

His suggestion made my blood run cold. I quickly made up an excuse and closed the door, locking it behind me.

For the rest of the night, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The moaning and laughing from the next room continued, getting louder and more disturbing by the minute. I tossed and turned in the bed, finally drifting off into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up, it was still dark outside. I checked the time and realized that it was only 3am. And that's when I saw him.

The receptionist was standing at the foot of my bed, staring down at me with an expression of lecherous hunger. I screamed and threw the nearest object at him, which happened to be a pillow.

He backed away, his face contorting in anger. "You should be more grateful," he hissed. "I was only trying to be friendly."

I grabbed my belongings and ran out of the room, as fast as I could. I never looked back.

To this day, I still shudder at the memory of that night. And whenever I see an old hotel with flickering lights and a greasy receptionist, I quickly hurry past.