(CW: death, murder, supernatural activity, bugs)

I don’t believe I killed Levi Stewart.

I mean, I killed someone—something—for certain.  I’ll admit to that.  There’d be no point in trying to prove my innocence, not with the overwhelming amount of evidence stacked against me.  That’s not what I’m trying to do in this statement.

What I’m trying to do is explain.  Incarcerate me all you want, I don’t particularly care.  Honestly, I probably deserve it.  But, you have to understand, whatever I killed that day wasn’t Levi.  It couldn’t have been.

Let me just start at the beginning.

I’ve known Levi for about eight years.  Or at least, I can’t be sure.  We’ve only been friends for about seven.  I met him at school; we were both studying political science before he switched to entomology. That’s a bit of a cruel joke, now isn’t it? I think we had to do a presentation together, and that’s when we really hit it off.  Maybe it was later, though.  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.

My point is, I’ve known Levi for quite some time, and he’s always been the extroverted sort.  Always the life of the party, you know.  So naturally, I thought it was odd when he started acting… reclusive.

He started talking less, only speaking when spoken to, and even then in simple, one-word replies.  When we hung out together—something that occurred significantly less and less—I noticed him spacing out, staring at absolutely nothing for long periods of time.

“Levi,” I would ask, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” he’d say.  Thinking back, I can hear the monotony in his voice more than ever.  But perhaps that’s just a bit of a mind trick, especially after all that’s happened.

Eventually, he stopped going out completely.  According to his roommate, Caleb Levine, his bedroom “became his cocoon”.  Maybe even literally.  I don’t know what he spent all that time doing there and I really don’t want to.  

I hope you understand that the rest of his friends and I tried to get him help, in those days leading up to his death.  We tried calling, texting, reaching out, knocking on his door.  No response.  Simply cold, unwelcoming silence.

And then Caleb stopped communicating with us as well, and we all got really worried.  At some point, some other friend of theirs, Amelia Morris I think, remembered Levi had given me a key to their place a while back.  She reminded me so, and I decided to go in and check on them.  It made sense to, really.  There was no ill intent in that visit, I promise you.  I didn’t expect it to go so… bad.

I knocked on the door when I arrived, though more as a formality than anything else.  I knew very well that no one would open it and welcome me in.  So, I turned the key and opened it myself.

What I saw in that apartment… God, I don't even know how to describe it.  It was so wrong and…impossible… and yet, I don’t know how it could have simply been my eyes playing tricks on me or a bout of madness.  No, it was truly, and most definitely real.  You must believe that much.

The first thing I saw was Levi.  Or rather, what had become of him.  He—it—looked like… honestly, kind of like that statue of Mothman.  It’s ridiculous, I know, but you have to listen. Its eyes were black and beady, skin a sickly pale reddish brown covered in fine, barbed hairs.  Protruding from its back were two tattered, hideous wings, and its face was pinched and nasty.  I think it glared at me.  I don’t know; I was so startled I couldn’t possibly focus.  Then it lunged at me, and from its open mouth extended a long, sharp proboscis pointed directly at my face.

I did what anyone would do in that situation.  I always carry a knife in my pocket, and, well, I won’t bother explaining.  This part, you already know.

Have you ever heard of a vampire moth?  Also called a calyptra?  It’s a type of moth that uses a proboscis to pierce through the skin of certain animals, including humans, and drink their blood. I learned about the species quite recently, right after Levi’s death.  

You understand what I’m saying here, right?  I don’t know how or why it happened, I just know that it was real.  I heard from Amelia that Caleb ran off; he has a cheap apartment in another town, she said.  I think you should talk to him.  He can tell you; he’s seen the nightmare too, lived with it even. He understands.

One thing I cannot explain is why, after the creature was killed, he looked completely normal again—like Levi, lying there dead as if nothing had happened but one murder.

Oh God, I think that’s the part I hate the most. See, this is why I need you to believe me. To think that poor Levi is dead by my hand—to think that I may just be an insane murderer—it breaks my heart. But I cannot feel any remorse for the death of that _thing._