What follows is a full report of the strange events that I, Dr. Harold Hawthorne, witnessed on the night of October 24th. I daresay that I may be crazy. No, in fact I hope I'm crazy, for if I am not then we all may be doomed. On the off chance that I am not insane, and what I have seen come to pass is actual truth, then I leave here my notes in the hope that they may someday help someone who finds themselves in the same precarious situation that I am in, and may God help us all. If, more likely, I am indeed insane, then I leave these as a warning to all curious minds, for when we gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into us.
Ah, where do I begin? I suppose I must begin at the beginning. I call myself a doctor, and indeed, I have finished medical school, but a doctor is one who heals. My profession is not so glamorous or so noble, for I am a doctor of death. It is common knowledge that not all illnesses can be cured, and many who have these incurable illnesses, and have yet to taste their bitter end, grow weary. No one can fight forever, and that is ever more true when It is a battle that they know well that they cannot win. Thus, they summon me.
Some would call me a murderer, but I like to think that I am a bringer of mercy. The government and most religious organizations consider it to be wrong, but should a person not have control of his or her own life? If a person is entitled to a right to life, does that not also imply that they have a right to death? I come to those who call me, and I end their suffering with a quick injection. Is that so wrong? I end suffering where others could not, and I bring true peace to people who's long journey simply refuses to end. It seems as though I write this for myself more than for the reader here, for I often must convince myself of the truths I have previously written, but now more than ever. For tonight is the night that it all started. Tonight is the night that I was made to question my very existence.
***
It began as a evening like any other. I had just arrived home after work, and I disposed of the needles and the cyanide containers as usual. I made dinner, watched a few television shows, and prepared for bed. Everything seemed normal. After a long, hot shower I laid down in my bed and quickly drifted off the sleep. Oh how I long to go back to that moment and stop myself, but now I'm not even sure if I'm in that same world.
It seemed as if not a single moment had passed before I opened my eyes once more. It seemed like my old bedroom. The bathroom was on my left, the dresser was at the foot of my bed, and everything seemed in order, but it was so very cold. That was what woke me up. I could see my breath, and I was shivering so ferociously that I nearly knocked myself off of the bed. I knew it wasn't that cold when I went to bed, and besides the heater was on, or at least it should be. The first thought that crossed my mind was that it simply got turned off somehow, but how? Suddenly, I saw a shadow pass in front of the doorway to my bedroom and advance toward my living room, where the heater was.
My first instinct was to call the police. I probably had a burglar in my house after all, but then it hit me. I have a couple gallons of cyanide hidden under my bed. Even if they could stop the burglar, those containers would be more suspicious than anything. My heart started pounding, and I knew that no matter which way I turned, it would not turn out well.
The way I saw it, I had two options, lie there and freeze to death, or get up and go to see what that shadow was. I chose the latter. The shadow was out of sight, but I knew that whatever made it was not gone, so I reached under my bed very slowly and cautiously and reached past the cyanide containers to retrieve an old 9mm pistol that I kept down there just in case. I picked up the gun and eyed it curiously. I had no idea what I was doing, and it had been years since I fired this thing. I hoped I wouldn't need it, but I hoped more that it still worked in case I did. I released the magazine, and made sure the bullets were still there. Indeed they rested securely in their proper place. I loaded the magazine and cocked the gun. I made the sign of the cross and proceeded to rise from my bed and move toward the living room.
