The thoughts that torment me from time to time -- as the darkened images sit there as vivid as a winter night. Knowing of that the horror is there watching me -- I sit there alone in the darkness. In blackened dreams one sits in the alley, the thing that keeps oneself warm is the heat coming from the generator behind the old, dark mission. I am sitting there because I needed a place to think -- since the inside of the place was too horrific to endure, I sit there thinking of creatures that would walk that place -- inside of the crowed room and of the demons that would just stand there looking at me because I was different than most of the homeless individuals that would come in there. My demons drove me into there -- and my fears are what driven me insane -- knowing the horror that goes on inside of the place. The eyes of the people that were looking at me seemed to be as one thousand rats walking around Lower Wacker Drive in Chicago. The thoughts that would go thru my mind as I spoke to the pastor of the place were thoughts of torment and of old nightmares that will not die.
    All I could of done was pray because the type of people that were in there reminded me of the people that Terry wrote of in his letters -- some of them looked like convicts or gangbangers looking for a drug deal. As I stood outside of the chapel -- I choked on a smell that hung inside of the back of my lungs, this smell was a combination of human waste -- both liquid and solid with vomit mixed in there somewhere. Looking inside the chapel -- within the shunned mission, the nightmares where returning -- these nightmares were of my own death; the death that was a murder that should not be. The horror that stands there watching me -- a demon that is clad in a long black leather jacket with a the face hidden by a dark hood, grey baggy jeans and a pair of black FILA sneakers. Inside of the jacket -- he was dripping with silver and gold. Inside of his jacket -- he was carrying a huge pistol, this demon -- haunted me on the subway from time to time and on the station called Ravenswood. This demon appeared to be human, but had the eyes similar to a rodent; a rat in description. This supernatural creature was one that remained unspoken by those that lived there -- those that dwelled the streets below the Ravenswood. This journal that I kept many years -- spoke of things from a darkened origin, and of the letters which are the account of a person that I met there whom told me about the statue which was left behind in Cabrini Green, the statue left him homeless after they arrested him for the murder of a gang leader -- a crime which he didn't commit.
    The stranger told me his testamony how he came across this statue and its weird origins -- the story behind the jade idol that was found by a friend of his on a dig in the Middle East, this same statue was found by another almost 80 years ago. While in the shelter I saw him drawing this thing with the squid-like head and the bloated body -- the wings were that of a gargoyle. I looked in his eyes and the visions that he had were of a shared -- also very dark in their origin. He spoke of the horrors that were written on the internet about this thing -- and of the account that occurred in Dunwich that revolved around the cases of Black Magic and the occult -- knowing about the twins that were born to a unwed mother. He tried to tell the pastor in the mission but he wouldn't believe him -- they said that he was posscessed by the Devil and threw him out as they did myself for questioning their values on homelessness.
   They just called me the Devil's Advocate and called me an abomination because I thought this way. They looked at him as a madman as they did myself -- just that what we see in our visions are too terrifying to describe. As he shared why he was kicked out -- I told him about the nightmares that haunted me, his were similar in nature -- by also being horrific, the nightmares that the stranger spoke were of a demon as my own, but one that lived in the temple of R'ylh -- which was the origin of the forgotten city. Both nightmares tied together -- as horrifying as it sounds, this demon is a foot solder of the Great Old Ones. The street evangelist overheard our coversation and observed the strangers artwork -- found what he was saying utter blasphemy and the talk about the unknown to be an act of witchcraft.
   Looking from the darkness -- the demon was sitting there, the smell of human waste filled the cold night air. The spirit let loose a horrific scream which made the eyes of the preaher bleed -- making him not pray for his life, but for his death. As he was on the concrete -- bleeding, these were his last words.

To the children of God,
   I speak these words not because I am going to die, but to go up to heaven to meet my lord and savior. To all of these children -- evil is among us and stand there there watching as a black lion preying upon the young. I see this plague of insanity wlaking the streets -- the horror that sits there casting a spell of magic -- and the act of rebellion is among us. Rebellion is sin as witchcraft -- from the words of the prophet Samuel, I am watched over by the angels and the Holy Spirit. I am there laying with God's angel and watching the serevants of the bones burn in the fire's of eternal darkness -- with the slaves of the murders from death row. In the sin -- and the eons turned away, there is no light and the reality is black --somewhat heavy laiden. But the fact being that the horrors of reality haunt the streets beneath Ravenswood. I testify of the hope that stands in the eye of darkness in the valley of the Shadow of Death -- for this my children is my parting sorrow to the promised land. These eyes that look at me -- I will rebuke, the demon -- this evil that observes the hopeless sleeping in the dark beneath the bridge of Lower Wacker and the Ravenswood Metra Rail Station. I say this because the hope needs to be heard....knowing...all of you...are going to .. to die.....

   As he said those final words -- the preacher bled to death in the same manner the stranger described in Cabrini Green with the Latin King and the other two gangbangers. But as I looked at the corpse -- there was something laying there next to him -- a book and a carving in his chest, this carving was a symbol for the occult practice of voodoo -- the writings in the journal that he kept spoke of his former occult practice of voodoo and black magic.
    The knowledge of this act of witchcraft leaves one with a sense of fear -- this fear is of the horror that cannot be described by a sense of humanistic philosophy or Christian Theology. But in this practice he left behind a relic that was left to be unwritten, but just to be spoken of in this journal. Also in the journal was of the history that haunted the street of Ravenswood -- this knowledge of dolls ands the image behind one of the dolls revealed the creature in the temples of R'ylh.
    The writings in the book told of the supernatural evil that walks in the cold and forggotten night -- a spirit which is watching the homeless and killed a Latin King five years ago. This figure was in my dreams and the person knew of its name, but the name of the horror which walked in Ravenswood -- no one really spoke of it, but knew of the evil that it was tied to in Dunwich, the words that it spoke haunted the dreams of the homeless in the mission. They described the demon in the same manner as I did -- a man wearing a long, black hooded leather jacket, baggy grey pants and FILA sneakers. He sits there -- watching as his master sits right beside him, not dead -- though it is dreaming. I see the reflection of the insanity in the mirror -- knowing that many eons that even death may die.