Trigger Warning: This year marks the beginning of a journey that I am still experiencing today. I have discovered that there is another world that exists alongside ours. As you read this, I want to ensure that you understand that professionals in psychology, clergy, and other knowledgeable individuals have heard this story. Some of them, when confronted with it through hypnosis, regression therapy, and other methods, have reacted with fear. However, I am not worried, because he isn't that bad, at least not to me.

That was a rather foreboding statement, and I feel it warrants some clarification. Whether you choose to accept it or not, I urge those who know me personally to tread lightly around this topic. The essence of the issue has a tendency to surface unexpectedly, and when it does, the outcomes are seldom favorable.

We were a family on the run, though I was blissfully unaware of the gravity of our situation at the time. It seemed that whispers of our troubles in Louisville had reached someone's ears, likely due to my own careless chatter. Under the cloak of night, we made our escape, first landing in the quiet town of Monroeville, Maryland. It was there that I formed a bond with my next-door neighbor, Steve. I was just nine years old, and despite our age gap, he was a lanky, carefree 16, we quickly became inseparable.

Our afternoons were filled with laughter and adventure, but our friendship would prove to be fleeting. One fateful Saturday, he took me to see *The Island at the Top of the World*, a film that captivated my imagination with its grand landscapes and magical storytelling. As we waited for the movie to begin, we chatted excitedly, and I mentioned my aunt Little K, lamenting that I wouldn't be able to see her that year. Steve furrowed his brow, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man, that is messed up," he said, his concern tangible. We also spoke about the tumultuous weekends filled with shouting matches that echoed from our house, a pattern that, almost predictably, led to another abrupt move just before my 10th birthday.

This time, we relocated to the forgotten outskirts of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where we found ourselves in a sprawling 200-year-old farmhouse nestled beside a lush, 300-acre farm. The air was thick with the scent of fresh earth and hay, and as I explored the creaking halls and shadowy corners of our new home, I began to sense that my life was on the brink of a profound transformation.

I had no trouble making friends, even while nestled on a sprawling patch of land surrounded by vibrant farmland and endless skies. At school, I was lucky to have Cynthia and Kim by my side, who kicked off my adventure into the realm of creative writing. Each morning, as we boarded the bus, we would dive into enchanting worlds brimming with mystery, intrigue, fantasy, and folklore. Many of those vivid stories still linger in my memory, patiently waiting in my collection to be brought to life when I finally find the time.

Then there was Sydney, who was always a bit of a thorn in my side. Living just down the pasture, we spent countless hours together, despite my irritation at his antics. He had a knack for getting under my skin, probably just as much as I was a source of annoyance for those around me. So, what does a young boy do when someone grates on his nerves? Well, I took aim and shot him! Yes, with my trusty Daisy air rifle. As you can imagine, that reckless act did not sit well with my parents, who swiftly introduced me to a rather memorable form of punishment. They made me stand over the roaring fire in the fireplace, the heat fierce enough that I could feel my pajamas begin to smolder. If I dared to step away, the threat of the strap loomed over me. Ah, fun times! Ironically, though, my dad didn't confiscate my Daisy air rifle; he regarded it as a cherished right in the United States. Interesting, don't you think?

The most captivating incident unfolded as the year drew to a close, when Mother Nature cloaked everything in a chill that compelled us to bundle up in warm coats and snug mittens. My closest companion during this icy season was Randy Rusputnic, a figure I looked up to, though he was five years my senior and fully immersed in budding adulthood. He resided in the attic of his parents' house, a whimsical space filled with shadows and secrets, and he answered to no one, reveling in the freedom that came with his unconventional living arrangements.

What fascinated me most about Randy was his identity as a survivalist, a title he wore like a badge of honor. One particularly frosty morning, my dad, aware of my restless spirit, granted me permission to accompany Randy as he inspected his traps. While the adults likely sought to keep me entertained for a few hours, they were blissfully unaware of the extraordinary adventure that lay ahead on that fateful October day.

As we trudged along the stream that wound its way beside the house, the crisp air nipped at our cheeks, and the world around us sparkled with frost. Randy patiently demonstrated the art of setting traps, guiding my hands to avoid the perilous snap of metal jaws that could easily claim a careless finger. He explained the grim necessity of drowning a beaver that found itself snared by a leg, detailing the method in a calm, almost clinical manner, and how to bludgeon it to death if it became agitated, a surreal, yet strangely enthralling education in the circle of life and death.

With every lesson, I felt a transformation within myself, as if I was becoming something darker, yet undeniably alive. And then, in the midst of this cold morning's lessons and the haunting beauty of nature, it happened...

Hello Neriki: It happened in 1975, I died. Or at least, I should have. Whether I did or not remains a mystery. Randy and I were checking the traps, and this required jumping across a creek, navigating the frozen patches on either side. Randy was moving quickly, and I was doing my best to keep up. It was rough.

Then, I jumped, slipped, and felt the ice crack beneath me. I barely had time to think before I found myself looking up at the sky through the freezing cold water. The creek was much deeper here than where we had been, and I sank to the bottom, watching the ice pass overhead. I sensed the end was near. At just ten years old, I felt my own mortality.

The next thing I remember is seeing ember-colored eyes looking at me curiously, accompanied by a warm sensation. Then, everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I saw my friend Randy screaming as if the world were ending, gazing down into the water. But I was behind him. As I looked around, I noticed something with me. It was tall, onyx-colored, and shimmered as if covered in scales.

The creature raised a long talon to its beak and seemed to say "shush." In hindsight, I would say he was about twelve feet tall, with leathery, scaled wings tight around his body. Though he didn't speak, I could understand him; he communicated through images in my mind. He held up his talon-like hands and revealed his bracers, signaling a pact to do no harm unless I demanded it. I can't explain how I knew this, but I did.

I called to Randy, and he turned, astonished. The next few hours are a blur, but we ended up in an ice fishing hut with an old man. Neither Randy nor the old man could see what I would come to know as Neriki, but he has been with me ever since. I've come to understand that he wouldn't interfere with the natural evolution of my life; I had lessons to learn that he could not prevent. However, he would always be there for me, a silent observer, a friend, someone to talk to.

Of course, Dad and Marge were furious about the ice incident; they had no time for my "creative nonsense." But Neriki was with me, and he has remained by my side to this day. People sometimes ask me how I know certain things or can predict particular outcomes. Those insights come from Neriki. I've never hidden this fact, but I rarely discuss him unless necessary. He appears in various forms, sometimes as an eighteen-foot creature from the depths of hell, other times as a small golden monkey. Regardless of his appearance, he is always there, and while he doesn't always intervene when things go terribly wrong, he helps me pick up the pieces and grow.

A footnote from the future

I would like to share some poignant reflections from the later chapters of my life. In 1975, at the tender age of nine, I viewed the world through the vibrant lens of childhood innocence, a time when every corner of my imagination was alive with possibility. Now, as I cross the threshold of 60, my perspective has shifted dramatically. Neriki, a constant presence from my early years, remains by my side in spirit, always in the corner of my eye, yet our interactions have become sparse, confined to the rare moments when I choose to reach out. As I mentioned in the introduction to this year, he has undergone scrutiny by a myriad of professionals from diverse fields. Most concluded that he is nothing more than a figment of my creative mind, a whimsical creation of my imagination. However, those who dared to delve deeper uncovered unsettling truths.

In my young adulthood, I found myself confiding in Lady Sonja, a local voodoo practitioner in the heart of New Orleans. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue at the mere mention of my enigmatic companion. During our conversation, she noted with keen insight that Neriki seemed to carry the weight of shackles around his wrists, a sign that suggested a profound connection to something beyond the ordinary, perhaps a Djinn, she speculated. Yet, the most striking moment of our encounter came when she attempted to seize him from me, an act of audacious ambition that I would soon regret.

In that instant, I felt a chilling wave of genuine fear as Neriki's wrath erupted, a force of nature fueled by betrayal. The air grew thick with an unspeakable tension, and her reaction was immediate and catastrophic. Lady Sonja's grip on her sanity began to unravel, a fate that reverberated through her family, casting a shadow of misfortune over them all. This harrowing experience taught me a crucial lesson: to never meddle with the enigmatic forces that intertwine with my life.