I apologize if this note is hard to understand. My current mental state will only allow me a few precious moments to scratch my thoughts down before I sink completely into madness. I do not know if my body will continue to exist, but my mind shall be long dead when you find this. This is my last act as a sane man, and I feel compelled to recount the events that lead me to this terrible moment.
     It was a dark and dismal night, and I had just retreated to my personal quarters. I rested upon my bed, in cap and gown, and began to read with the last light of my candle. After I had finished a few pages I threw the leather-bound tome upon my oak nightstand. I could not sleep and was mesmerized by the pale moonlight dancing across my tattered curtains. The shapes danced about and drew my eye across my room. I remember seeing my trophy buck's head giving me it's sad glare, several shelves of misaligned tomes covered in a thick layer of dust, and finally my eyes came upon my father's drawing table and his old chair. I currently sit in that very chair and am hurriedly writing upon that same desk, but that is of little importance.
    Everything was in it's place but something still kept me awake. The hour was late and my eyelids were heavy, but I did not feel comfortable enough to completely drop my guard. I followed the paths of the moonbeams for a few moments more until one lead my eye back to this desk. It ran up the leg of the chair and than across the black coat of a strange man who sat in the chair. I jumped with a fright and sat upright in my bed, but the man did not seem threatening. I sat petrified for a few moments staring at the intruder.
    At first I believed him to be but a simple specter. However, he was far to real looking to have been composed of ether. He held a wine glass with one hand, swishing about its contents. He appeared to be quite old, but I felt that he was a powerful man. Had he needed to, I suspect that he could have lifted me with one arm and thrown me several feet. However, he did not move, he merely sat there in his formal attire swishing about my red wine with an odd smirk upon his face. I called to him, "Who are you, and why have you barged into my home?"
    As I finished speaking he stopped moving the wine in his glass, and asked me in a devilish tone, "You weren't expecting me?"
    I sat perplexed and scrounged through my mind looking for a missed appointment. When my search came back with nothing I spoke again, "I do not know who you are, and do not recall making any plans for this day and definitely not this hour." My voice was trembling with fear and confusion. A man had appeared within an instant in my private chambers and expected me to take him as a guest. I feared his true motives and the unnatural strength I sensed from him, but tried to conceal my thoughts as best as I could.
    With an almost disappointed look on his face he began to speak again, "They never expect us. They go about their lives without realizing when their appointment is. Mr. Attfield, I had expected more from you. Such a learned man must have seen this day coming."
    "How. . .How do you know me?" With each word and moment I pulled my sheets closer and closer towards me. My fear expanded constantly and I felt my heart thrash about in my chest.
    "I know everyone. It is in the nature of my work. I regret to inform you that Judgment has been passed, and you shall now experience Hell."
    "Hell! This cannot be! I am still alive! My lungs still pull in air, and my heart still beats within my breast!" With my frantic cries, came a feeling of complete doom. As I frantically spoke those words I saw a smirk slowly spread across his terrible face.
    "I know that you are alive, but your sentence is still to be carried out."
    "No, no! I cannot be damned to Hell! I have done no evil, and have tried only to spread good. Angels have pulled wretches worse than myself from your grasp. I have done my good and I shall be saved!"
    "No angel shall save you Mr. Attfield. There will be no onion for you to grasp in this Hell. You will still live in this plane, but your mind will torment itself constantly. There will be no part of the Mr. Attfield that people have come to know anymore, and it will be replaced by your suffering. You will be your own undoing, and I am merely here to inform you of your tragic fate."
    "I have never committed a sin! Why do I deserve this punishment?"
    "You are being punished only because you desire it. This will atone for all of your failures, and any suffering you may have caused. You have tried to delay this hour for far too long, and your punishment will be all the worse for it. Now come, and see thy true self!" The man produced a small mirror, and I became entranced by its terrible beauty. I shall not recount what I saw. It is too terrible to recount, and I needed to preserve my sanity for as long as I could. All I can say is that I received a mortal blow with that look. When I recovered from the initial shock I saw that the man had left, but his glass and mirror remained. With my last ounces of strength, and with my mind tearing itself asunder I took the terrible mirror high above my head and smashed it into the table.
    I saw its shards scattered across the room and smiled my last smile. I felt my strength and sanity slipping by so I set out to tell someone of my terrible fate. With my last sane thought I write this sentence: That terrible devil that came to deliver my punishment and sentence me to a fate worse than death; It was . . . me.