October 8th,

"It's there."

Mother spoke those words while I was feeding her her broth tonight. She held up one frail, bony hand, and her eyes were wild with fear. "It's there," she repeated, pointing out the window.

I turned and saw nothing but the shadows and the moonlight. "It's gone," she whispered. "But it will return."

I was silent, trying to think of how best to broach the subject with her. "Do you know, Mother, that there has never been a reported bat attack on a human being?" I said. "Bats are not carnivorous, after all…"

"This one is," she whispered. "He drinks my life. He drains my senses. He is driving me mad."

"An animal cannot…"

"A demon," she interrupted. "A demon can."

I was silent again. "Mother, you always taught me that God will protect us from evil," I said, trying a different tact. "And you wear his symbol always about your neck…"

"Oh, Amadeus, you are foolish sometimes," she whispered, looking down at her hands. "To think that evil comes from outside. It is inside. In all of us. That is what madness is – releasing that evil. That is what the Bat is trying to make me do. He claws and gnaws at my defenses, and in time, he will break them. He will break me."

"Why do you think that, Mother?" I whispered. "I wish only to understand, to help you…"

"Amadeus, the only way to understand madness is to succumb to it," she whispered. She took my hand in her weak one. "And we must both be strong, and not do that," she whispered. "We must both of us fight the Bat."

"Mother, there is no bat," I insisted. "He is a delusion, a hallucination, a figment of your imagination. He is not real."

She just looked back at me. "You will see him too soon," she whispered. "And then your reality will be as uncertain as mine."

I saw that talking to her was useless, and stood up. "Try to rest now, Mother," I whispered, kissing her forehead. "I can give you a tonic to help you sleep…"

"No, Amadeus, I must be able to wake up," she interrupted. "Or the Bat will destroy me."

I left her alone, taking the empty bowl out of her room and heading down the stairs towards the kitchen. As I passed the long windows along the corridor, I thought I saw a shadow flitting across the moon, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to gaze out of them but saw nothing. My imagination. Mother has got me spooked with talk of bats.

October 15th,

I have seen it. That is, I have seen a bat outside the window. It was the strangest thing, and there is nothing I can think of to explain it.

I had been doing some research a few days previous. I had thought that perhaps Mother might be aware of the legends about vampires (her description of this creature draining her life force drew an association in me about the stories I have heard of these supernatural creatures.) But such material is heavy and dark and depressing, and so I decided to make a short visit to Metropolis to visit my wife and daughter. I left Mother in the care of the physician for three days, and had a pleasant, relaxing time with my loving family. I was not thinking of bats or vampires or Mother's illness on my return to Mother's home – I was in a merry mood, and ready to greet my mother with cheerful optimism. I arrived late in the evening, climbed the steps to her attic room, and then stood stock still, frozen in shock and horror.

The long corridor in front of me ended in a set of French windows opening onto the balcony. And beating its black wings against that window was a creature such as I had never seen before.

It was made of black smoke and shadows, and flitted away the moment I saw it. But never could I forget the burning malice in its deep, red eyes, the hatred, the…evil. Evil as you sometimes see in the eyes of hardened criminals, or the criminally insane.

It was my imagination, obviously, but I cannot understand why my mind would play tricks on me like that. Perhaps there is some subliminal association with the house and the Bat, since it is where my mother claims to have seen it. Perhaps I was overtired from my journey. Perhaps I have been studying too hard.

I did not tell Mother, naturally, and she did not say anything when I went in to see her and ask her questions. She just stared out with the window with a hint of desperation in her otherwise lifeless eyes. I wish I could do something to help her.

October 17th,

"You've seen it too, haven't you?" Mother asked me suddenly.

I stared at her in surprise. I had not given her any conscious indication of this, and I had certainly never intended to speak to her about it.

"Seen…"

"The Bat," she retorted. "You must be careful, Amadeus. If you are not careful, he will consume your mind too."

I decided to lie – it would only upset her hearing the truth. "I have seen nothing, Mother…"

"You've seen it," she repeated, firmly, with an authority only the insane have. "I see its shadow in your eyes now. Once you let it in your mind, it will never leave. It cannot get out – it gets trapped in there, so it starts to tear and claw and destroy. And it will release all that is dark inside you. Bats need the dark – they need caves and holes to hide in. So it will consume your mind and body with shadows and darkness. There is no escape from it once it gets it. Do not let it in, Amadeus."

"I have no intention of…" I began, but suddenly I heard a hasty knocking against the glass of the window behind me.

"Don't turn around," Mother whispered hastily, as I was about to do so. "It's there."

I had never heard knocking before. But now I heard it – frantic scratching, like nails on a coffin lid from someone buried alive, desperately scratching in the small, choking darkness…

"Go away!" whispered Mother, hoarsely, her eyes staring past me in terror. "Go away! Leave us in peace!"

The scratching grew unbearable. I whirled around to see for myself what was making the noise…and suddenly it stopped. There was nothing outside the window. I turned to look at Mother, who was breathing heavily. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it out," she whispered. "I don't think it will ever go away. But you have to fight it, Amadeus. Even when my strength fails me, you must continue to fight it. It will never let you rest, but if it wins…we are all lost."

My mind is clearly overworked – I just need to rest. Perhaps it is the atmosphere in this house, playing on my imagination, for truly as I write this, I feel eyes upon me, as if something is watching me. But there is nothing in the room. Nothing but the darkness and the shadows.