September, 2014.

You were huddled under the blanket, hiding the light from your computer screen as to not alert anyone else asleep in your home. You had delved deeper into the Internet through a passageway in a Creepypasta site. You were on an unlisted website titled ‘theacosmist.com’. It was hardly a short story, mainly a collection of odd references being framed.

’Do you believe that you can create things with only your mind?’ the website began.

’A nihilist and an absurdist believe that the world has no meaning. Opposing this belief is an acosmist. An acosmist believes that the world does not exist without the meaning of the divine. There is no material world, which means that it can be molded with the intentions set by the mind. The Acosmist was once a normal man that mastered the material world, able to alter it to his liking. By mastering manifestation, he has become the divine himself’, the site explained.

’The Acosmist owns a house that can travel through time and space without boundary, reappearing wherever he need be. He hunts, seeking control over others now that he has complete control over reality and himself. There is nothing else left for him to discover except for the people that inhabit his reality. He can connect to those that think of his existence.’

The site began to distort, and when you scrolled down, new words began to appear on screen. They read: “I can be your close one. I can be your imaginary friend. I can be the one who comes home to you every evening. I can be the one who you think of. Think of me. Think of me, think of me, think of me. Think of me so I can come inside.”

The image of a white haired man with hollowed eyes appeared in your mind, and you heard a sound from downstairs in your home. You knew first the rule of surviving a horror movie was to not investigate, but you needed to confirm that you were only being paranoid. You would never be able to fall asleep if you did not confirm that there was nothing wrong.

You slipped out of your bed, and crept down the stairwell of your home. It was eerily silent, not a peep coming from your family in their own rooms. When you entered the living room, time stopped. A rift, tearing apart your wall like a wounded gash had appeared, displaying the appearance of a colonial house in a greyed out forest. In front of it stood a towering man, his hair white and his eyes hollow and unblinking. “You thought of me,” he said.