The Moon would never be the same again. Not after the things I saw, the things I knew that were hiding there. I could never again look up at night without a shudder, without averting my eyes from the horror of it.
The Moon's sickly light, reflected sunlight turned mocking and wrong, crept in through my shuttered windows. I had taken to taping them up, afraid to go out at night, afraid of what might be there.
They walked down on moonbeams, those horrible things with too many angles, walked down and fed. I remember the first time I saw them, the way they moved was... wrong.
A neighbor's dog disappeared that night. I did not hear of anything else for a long while. But eventually, something or someone else would go. It's my fault really, my fault for waking the things one the dark side of the moon, who stared down with an unblinking eye. The ritual was there, its purpose unclear.
I should have known better, know that there are things left untouched, areas left unexplored. But I was younger then, curious and headstrong. They are looking for me, coming for me, and eventually they will get me. I do my best, stay out of their sight, avoid the pull of moonlight, which slides along my floor no matter how hard I try to block it from my home. It will get here soon, some night, and there is nothing I can do.
I have tried appealing to the sun, calling on protection. I fill myself with sun, drink the sun every day, and curse the clouds. But it's all for nothing. They will come for me, and I deserve it.