That night, something changed. I couldn't say what. I fell asleep as I was writing and I remember I woke up frightened. As if something or someone had shaken me to wake me up. Just in time to put off the fire from a melted candle on my desk.

Ever since that night, everything around looked different somehow. Yet, still the same. The ivory skies were still scattered above my house. The nights were just as sweet and scented with the perfume of the night's flowers. The moon was still shining over the stories that grew under my pen. I was writing like a mad man as if it was the last thing to do. I lived my life between the pages of my book. I almost didn't come out of the house anymore. Instead, I was sleeping, a restless sleep, taken away by dreams that didn't seem mine.

Slowly but surely, the house looked strange to me. As if an unwelcomed guest would have taken it over. Dishes were moved out of their place. Pieces of furniture changed their places by themselves, covering the windows so that the light of day couldn't come out. And no matter how much I tried to move them back, the second day they were back. The floors were screaking, and the walls were cracking.

But the most troubling of all the phenomena happening in my house was that I didn't recognize my own handwriting. My writing had changed. It turned darker, gloomier. I would find the sheets of papers spread all over. My character had turned into a morose, retreated person. He was chasing away all the people who loved him. He refused to talk and open up about his feelings. Even if I was burning all the pages, after a few days, I was still discovering the same lonely, unfulfilled man. So I began to spend less and less time inside the house that was so dear to me once.

Until one night, when I was shocked to read that my character was to lose his mind and burn himself alive. I thought it was time to stop for a while and try to understand the other strange occurrences that troubled my life.

I'd rather wander around, especially when the night fell. I even visited the small village in the valley regularly simply because it was bustling with life. That bustle brought hope to my life. It was the only time I felt alive.

In time, the local people had stopped studying or questioning me and I was happy with that. Even the Captain's widow had given up keeping me posted with all the news in the village, and she was focusing her attention to a newcomer or a new potential suitor for her daughters.

I was walking the side streets until late in the night, accompanied only by the sound of my own footsteps. Once in a while, a dog crossed paths with me, studying me and eerily howling. But I was ignoring it, just as I did with the people around me. I loved the peace of the village, just as much as I loved the turbulence of the waves when I was walking the shores. And as soon as dawn came, I went back home and fell into a deep sleep to wake up late in the evening. I wasn't sleeping because I felt tired; I was sleeping to make time run faster. So that when night came, to start living again.

I almost didn't mind the strange things happening in my house. I've never been a supporter of spiritualism, yet not a stubborn skeptic either. I've been acknowledging the idea that the forces of nature were hard to tame but to believe that spirits or entities were haunting me was hard to accept.

Most of the time, I was wandering the shore and the deserted streets. Sometimes, I forgot to eat. I didn't enjoy gardening anymore. Soon, weeds began to spread their tentacles over the garden again, determined to consume the roses, taking over their frailty with their knotty, spiky stalks which went deep into their delicate core.

Yet, Emma was still in my heart and thoughts. No matter what I did, her memory was coming back again and again, that sometimes I had the impression I could see her among the passing silhouettes on the street. Then, she would vanish like a ghost before I could even touch her. To haunt me again the next day.

In the daytime, the dry air was making me feel like I was losing my breath. The nights, instead, were wrapping me with their fragrances and crisp air. In my few hours of sleep, strange dreams tormented me. One of those dreams kept coming back, making me wake up terrified, shaken, in cold sweat. I was dreaming of being with Emma, happy and at peace, living the life I've always dreamed of. We were both sitting in the swing I have built in the garden, slowly swinging and watching the night sky, without saying a word. And then, everything around us came to ruin. Darts of fire were crossing the sky, then coming upon us, hot and merciless, taking the air away. Dark clouds were coming out of nowhere and fell down like a black ball. The flowers were shrinking and dying under our eyes. I was trying to protect Emma, holding her tight at my chest. But she was slipping from my arms, and shifting off until my hand couldn't hold hers anymore. And I was losing her in a thick twirl of smoke, made from the darkness of hell. I was looking back to the house and I couldn't see it anymore. Eventually, I was waking up, coughing and barely breathing.

Then, my anxiety started to become ever more oppressive. I had the impression that no matter where I was, at home, wandering the shores and the village, someone was following my every step. I could almost feel its breath in the back of my head. Each time, I was turning my head, studying the places I left behind. Nothing.

At first, I thought they were just figments of my imagination. It was a sign I should have eaten better and slept longer.

And then, I saw him. Or her. I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Yet, I tended to believe it was a man because of the hight. But it could have been a woman just as well since the silhouette was too thin, too fragile to belong to a man.

It was a night like any other. In the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow sneaking around the corners of the houses. That strange feeling didn't vanish, not even after I walked a few more streets. I got a move on, almost running, hoping that my follower would lose my track. I've never been a coward, but now that oppressive feeling was so strong, that it had almost sent me into the claws of fright. I was gasping while my pulse has risen with each step I took.

Yet, the shadow kept on following, in perfect silence. What scared me the most was the fact I couldn't hear its footsteps, although we were the only ones to walk those streets at that late hour in the night. At one time, I stopped to catch my breath. But nothing happened. The shadow disappeared as if never there. I hurried towards home like never before, hoping to find protection surrounded by the familiar walls of my house. Yet, even though I couldn't see anyone following me, that heavy feeling was still present.

For a few days, nothing happened, although, inside the house, strange things were still occurring. This time, nothing was misplaced. But things were disappearing. At first, small things like cutlery, baskets, cups or candles. Then, clothes and shoes began to vanish. I've searched the entire house, but no sign of them. I have gotten to wear old clothes from an old suitcase I found in the attic. I didn't care about the way I looked or what people might have thought of me. I haven't looked in the mirror for a long time. I didn't like to see my pale, freckled-face anyway. My beard had probably grown a lot and a bath might have been required, but I didn't care. Yet, that presence that was taking over my house and life was troubling me. 

One time, I thought that maybe I was the one hiding my own belongings. I had read a psychology book once which talked about the weirdness of the human mind. In moments of uneasiness and troubles, the human mind separated itself in two, revealing two separate identities that think differently and act differently, not knowing of each other's existence. Was I losing my mind?

No,definetly not. A lunatic would have never thought of him going mad. He would never acknowledge the strange things happening around him. Yet, I was noticing the changes troubling my peace and trying to find a logical explanation about them.

Then, I saw it again. The thin silhouette that has been following me; merely a shadow. This time, it came closer. It was almost late in the afternoon. I was reading on the terrace of my house. It was an old book, with burnt edges; yet, the pages had somehow survived. All of a sudden, the page I was reading turned dark. I thought that maybe a cloud was passing by and I looked up.

I felt chills down my spine at the sight of it. I couldn't exactly describe what it was. On the roof, leaning towards me, there was the strangest being – a ragged hood covered its head so I couldn't see its face. A dark coat was wrapping it from head to toe, and the edges of the coat were waving in the cool breeze. I jumped to my feet. At that moment, the shadow retreated, floating towards the chimney on the roof.

"Hey! Get out of here!" I shouted. My voice was trembling and the shout was actually my way of gaining courage. What scared me the most was that I didn't know whether the shadow has left or it was still watching me from behind the chimney.

That night, I could write again after a long while. But my writing has already been influenced by past occurrences. I have given up hiding my life. It was time to write about my life, as dull or as weird as it was. It was actually the diary of a man haunted by memories and regrets. I almost didn't leave my room in the attic. I was standing up from my desk to stretch my tired joints and then taking a few steps to the window that led to the front garden, now kissed by moonlight. I almost had forgotten to close the small gate at the entrance in my garden. I could hear it screaking rhythmically in the wind. The sound brought calmness to my restless soul, giving me the feeling that someone beloved was about to arrive.

I came closer to the window to take a better look. Indeed, I forgot it open. But that wasn't what caught my attention. There was someone by the gate. It wasn't someone familiar, no dear to me. It was that creature again. Its gray cloak was reaching the ground, and the body seemed ethereal somehow as if there was nothing beneath that cloak. 

The hood was still covering its head, but now I could clearly see the features of its face in the moonlight. And, to my horror, its face was changing. At first, it turned into the face of a woman; then, it was the face of a man. But the face was always fuzzy, surrounded by a white glow. I couldn't read any expression on that face as if it belonged to a statue. It was staring at me. I could see its eyes clearly; they were completely dark, yet, sparkling under the hood. The hair was long and as black as the darkest night, fluttering from beneath the hood like claws reaching out for me. The faces kept on changing, but that cold, piercing glare remained. I had a strange feeling I knew those faces.

I can't remember how long I've stared at it. My heart was racing to jump off my chest, but I couldn't move as if paralyzed. I fought hard to get myself out of that dazing state. When I finally managed to break off that strange feeling, I dashed down the stairs into the garden. My heart was rumbling in my ears. On my way, I grabbed a knife and now I was holding it so tight, I felt its hilt going through my flash.

I can't remember how I got down. I found myself in the front garden, the knife stocked in my stiffed hand. The creature was gone. I looked around, but there was no sign of its overwhelming presence. The grass near the gate didn't seem trampled down. Hence it wasn't a real person. I searched the silent trees around, but my troubled mind was seeing the shadowy figure behind every tree, so decided to went back inside. As I was going upstairs, I remembered the small iron gate was still open. Now I could clearly hear it screaking in the wind. In that dizzy estate, I was aware of one thing -- there wasn't a single wind blow the whole time the creature was lurking my garden...

Well, what do you think? I'm really anxious to know your thoughts because this is different from I have written so far. Thanks!