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July 6, 1975

JULY 6, 1975

I woke the next day in a tangle of sweaty sheets, trying to escape something in a nightmare that was already forgotten. My first glance was toward the small plastic tank on my bureau. I could see the shape prowling back and forth even from across the room. As recent as the day before, I’d have to practically have my nose against the side of the tank to see anything.

I got out of bed and went to the tank, approaching it cautiously, as if the thing might leap out and get me. Some fragment of my dream tried to surface but didn’t quite make it. Still, it gave me a chill.

The creature seemed to have grown again, even since the previous evening. It was probably two inches long but looked bigger because of the constantly swirling tentacles. I sprinkled some food in, careful to keep my hand way above the tank. It went for the flakes of dried fish or whatever the hell it was, but did so with nowhere near the frenzied enthusiasm of the past. I realized with a start that
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