You started reading.

Didn't you see the title?

I'll give you one more chance.

You're still reading?

Okay, if you insist. . .

*****

Our story begins on a Monday morning. Not may favorite day of the week, but not my least favorite. 

The day started normal, I put on normal clothes, got into my normal car, drove to my normal high school, got ready for a boring Monday. 

Or so I thought.

You see, I have a friend named Stephen, normal enough name, and the day before, I had been at his house pretty late while we watched some movies. Not particularly scary, sad, moving, or funny, just. . . movies.

Anyways, that part doesn't matter.

You know what? You're probably a nice person, I don't want to drag you into this.

So I'll give you a final warning:

If you stop reading right now, you can go on with your life. 

Just stop reading.

You really won't quit, will you?

Fine. Keep reading, don't keep reading, whatever you want.

It'll make things easier for me, at least. . .

So, where was I? Oh, yes.

When I got to school, Stephen was acting strange. He looked very tired, as if he hadn't slept in a while. 

He would also close his eyes for a few seconds, then open them very slowly, and flinch as if this caused him great pain, or fright. 

I simply thought he was just tired from the night before, but he behaved like this for several days.

One day, I asked him if he was okay.

He did his slow blinking again, and shifted his eyes from side to side, like he was looking at something out of the corner of his eye. 

He said everything was fine, that he was just tired.

He was like this for roughly a month longer until I asked again.

He bit his lip, and told me. 

At first I thought he was kidding. This was some sort of joke. But then I saw them too.

It's still not too late, you know.

You can stop reading, grow up, have a life, grow old.

No? Okay.

He told me that he came across an article on an old blog, written years ago.

He said that ever since, whenever he blinked, he saw these inky figures, just out of the corner of his eye.

Every time he blinked, they got closer. 

They were coming for him, he told me. 

They were going to kill him. 

It was going to happen, but he knew how to make it less painful.

The more people you tell, the less painful it will be. If you tell enough, they'll let you die of old age.

This is the only way to make it easier. To tell people.

But the only way to have them onto you, is to be told by someone else.

I warned you.

I am sorry.