She speaks to me. She speaks to me and her words are like poison to my brain and I try to shut her out but I can’t. She whispers things, but not the sweet nothings that other people think; no, deadly things, hushed promises of evil.

And I sit here on my bed, afraid to lie down in case I fall asleep and hear her sickly sweet voice inside my dreams. In case once I fall asleep, I do not wake and the Lord my soul does not take. Because that would leave me here with her.

Gaaahh! Even now I feel her deadly soul fluttering around in mine like a malignant parasite, seeping and sponging herself into me. She wants to be a part of me, to control me, but I cannot let her.

I cannot let her!

And it hurts, and I cry feeble tears, and her presence only delights in my misery, and I fall upon my bed, stock-still, stiff as a board, and for a second I wonder if I am dead, if she has killed me, but she hasn’t. No, she draws it out and only delights in my misery.

And she only delights in my misery . . .