Shakey Ground

Patient No 000572-31 Subject clearly still showing signs of advanced PTSD, night terrors, and delusions. Subject's military record shows he worked with (although did not belong to) various special operations groups during his two tours while deployed to Vietnam. Orderly's Notes:  It began raining two days ago and the subject has shown increasing signs of agitation with violent outbursts. Reoccurring themes seem to revolve around lizards, snakes, pigs, and men. We can safely assume the men are Viet-Cong, subject has mentioned them on many occasions. Subject speaks as if these entities are somehow linked, mentioning them in rapid succession.   Further observation impossible as the military has moved the patient to a different facility.  No further information available. 

Kid, there's far worse things out in the jungle than tigers and Charlie. Demon worshipping cannibal tribes. There's creatures out there that man has never spoken of and that have no right to share our world. Hell, I suspect some of them aren't even from this world. All I'm saying is always carry extra ammo, ... and save that last round for yourself. There's worse ways to go. 

I watched as the snake slithered through the sand. It was a grotesque thing, short, fat, and its scales hued in colours unknown to nature. Despite its miniscule size, its hiss was a most grating and deafening noise, and in its path it left only a destruction well beyond proportion to its mass. It apparently contained in its tiny brain so amount of sentience. It would feign attack again and again, but always stayed just out of the reach of the shovel which I wielded, hissing in its loud and indecipherable screeches. As with every encounter that I had had with the repugnant species I knew that if I waited for the light of dawn the creature would be pushed back to whatever den from which it came. 

"My pen is my sword and my clipboard is my shield!" - Friend Computer Approved Yellowpants Slogan from yearcycle 214. 

I stand still where I still stand and have always stood, while the world flows and ebbs around me. I stand head tilted towards the heavens, saying thanks for the blessings in life and asking for nothing, as I do not feel that I've ever done anything worthy of reward. 

You do realize that Hell has a literal Nazi army, right? 

I can hear them even as I drift off to sleep. Their teeth gnashing, their claws digging into the ground. This is just the beginning of the hunt that I must survive every night. 

I gazed into the abyss and it gazed back.  The abyss flinched first.

My mind is broken. Send help. 

Whether or not you believe that they exist is barely relevant. You don't believe because they don't want you to believe that they're real.  They mostly do this by injecting their existence into our world through fiction.  There's actually a whole lot of hidden truth in fiction, even back to the days of Vlad the Impaler. He wasn't a vampire, but there's plenty of evidence that there was one close to the origins of those stories even before Bram Stoker took up his pen.  They managed to convince everybody that it was all just a bunch of tall tales and boogie man stories to keep kids in bed at night. There's even been a few of those stories penned by their own undying hands.  It's the same principle that the news media companies use: control what gets consumed by the viewers, listeners, and readers and you can eventually control what they believe.  The Devil isn't trying to convince anyone these days that he doesn't exist. Hell, he's dancing righ...

You'd do well to remember that we're not the only ones in this game. There's dozens of organizations operating at the same level of us. All with the single goal of keeping the old ones - the unmentionable ones - and their hordes from enslaving mankind and devouring our world. Sure, we don't get along, even refuse to help one another, but we all share that goal. Of course there's just as many orgs working against us. Fools with their foolish ideas running head first straight into Armageddon. It's a game of attrition that's as old as man himself. God help us. 

The demons are already here, kid. Sure as rain you'll learn to spot them. Or you'll end up amongst their numbers.  What? You don't believe in 'em? You should. They're all around us. Look just like us. Only these days they're not hiding it as well as they used to. They don't care anymore. And that's their greatest weakness .. their overconfidence and arrogance.  And make no mistake, they want you dead. They want us dead. 

There are days I simply don't feel like fighting in this war anymore. Feel like it's pointless, that the demons have already won. That ain't true though. Then I give it a bit of time and before I know it I'm back in the thick of it. We have to. 

Around a hundred years ago, the Wild West got a whole lot wilder. And a whole lot weirder, too. They asked that damned wizard if he had any last words as he stood on the gallows, ready to be hung for his crimes. They really shouldn’t have done that. In his last few words, before the hangman finally had had enough and pulled the damned lever anyway, he used his last few breaths to put a curse upon this land. We’ve been paying for it ever since. And it seems that as time goes by, it’s only getting worse. Sometimes the dead just won’t stay dead. Sometimes that fella you’re about to have a little altercation with, well, he might just be possessed by a demon. Or worse, he might just be one in disguise. You never know anymore. The undead and the unholy roam the land day and night. And they’re not even the worst of your problems. There are worse things. But that’s where you come in, partner. You and those like you, you’re the only thing standing between them and the end. Send them all back to...

Coming up on a hundred years since they hung the fool. Tale goes that nobody really believed he'd done what they claimed. They claimed he was deep in cahoots with dark powers, that he wasn't just pretending to be a wizard but actually was. Year later, when the world went crazy, people thought a little differently. See, when they put him up on the gallows that foolhardy sheriff asked him if he had any last words. By the time the hangman figured out what the bastard was mumbling and pulled the lever sending him to Hell, it was too late. 

There are dimensions between the dimensions, space between the spaces. Do not hunt there, for those that you would hunt hunted you long, long ago.