Inverted - An Introduction of Sorts (from Southpaw Nights)

I awoke, cold and naked in my bed.
The winter air blew through the open window; ruffling the curtains and making my flesh break out in goose flesh. I pulled on the previous night’s clothes, and made my way into the kitchen. I couldn’t remember much of what had happened in the course of the past six hours, but soon realized that I had underestimated the thing’s strength. All of the crucifixes in the house had been inverted; incoherent messages were scrawled on the walls, in what looked like red crayon - names and places I didn’t recognize, alongside crudely drawn children and demons. Was it still correct to think that this was the work of another creature? Some fictional boogeyman that came in the night? Or was it all in my head? Had I somehow done all this while I was drunk out of my mind? I didn’t want to believe the latter, but the thought could hold a horrible truth.
I guess only time would tell, and the best I could do was to hope that things wouldn’t get any worse than they already had.