There's a physical phenomenon called the "physiological scotoma." It's a small spot in our visual field where the optic nerve passes through the retina: at that exact point, we are technically blind. The brain, however, is lazy; it fills the hole using the surrounding information, literally inventing what we should be seeing.
I learned about it from an old thread on a UFO forum that has since vanished without a trace. The post said: "Want to see what lives in your blind spot? Just fool the brain's rendering."
What followed was a silly procedure: stare at a black dot on a white sheet of paper, tilt your head 15 degrees, and sway a flashlight rhythmically. I did it out of boredom, one Sunday evening.
On the tenth sweep, the black dot disappeared, as expected. But instead of being replaced by the white of the paper, it was filled with something else.
It was an eye. An enormous eye, with no eyelid, and a pupil that wasn't round but a horizontal slit, like a goat's. It wasn't on the paper. It was inside my head, projected by my own optic nerve.
I flinched and the image vanished. But from that moment, my blind spot never went back to "normal."
Now, every time I shift my gaze quickly, I see for a fraction of a second long, gray fingers pulling back behind the edges of furniture. If I look in the mirror, I see a dark smudge just above my shoulder, a distortion that vanishes if I try to stare at it directly.
The worst part is the weight. I feel a constant weight on my back, as if someone were hugging me from behind, resting their head against the nape of my neck, positioned exactly where my eyes can't reach.
Yesterday I tried to make a video with my phone, aiming it behind me while I looked into the lens. The video showed only me, alone in the room. But the audio... in the audio you could hear heavy, wet breathing, and a voice that rasped:
"Thank you for looking at me. Now that you know I'm here, I can stop hiding in the dark and start entering the light."
This morning I woke up and my blind spot had doubled. I can't see colors on the right side of my eye anymore. I only see a gray fog that chews at reality. And that fog is advancing toward the center.
They say blindness is the absence of light. They're wrong. Blindness is the space we leave empty so that they can finally occupy it.
Do you feel that slight discomfort at the edge of your vision? Don't turn around suddenly. That's exactly what it's waiting for.