Chapter Text
It was there... lurking in the corner. Staring at me with so much desire and hunger like it wanted to eat me, devour me and I had this crippling feeling like... like it would enjoy every second, every bite it would take out of my skin, my body, my flesh. But it had never touched me. They had never even approached me. And yet, their presence alone never failed to make me fear for my life... for my sanity.
There were women, men and children equal. They looked dead, with their pale skin and their thin limbs. They always wore black and white attires that were a size too big, but I dare say I think it fit them before. But they're souls, ghosts, invisible monsters, and they're my demons. I should never have to think they were somehow alive creatures - humans - before they ended up here, in front of me with the only purpose of haunting me until my last day on this earth.
...
I swore I just heard someone call my name. It's faint, but present. And yet, the demon's mouth is not forming any words, even though sometimes I see it form some. As if it were trying to tell me something, but I can't quite hear the words. It's almost like they are too far away from me... out of reach. I cannot see who is talking to me...
"Lone!" an echo.
It's an echo that called my name. A distant voice. Maybe it's the demons'.
"Lone!"
No. I recognize this voice. And it doesn't belong to any monster. It's my...
"Mother. I'm fine" I said, finally coming back to my body, my mother standing in front of me.
She looked effrayed. She was stealing a few glances in the direction my eyes were glued on just a few seconds ago. She was shaking me, yelling my name. I wonder where I went for me to not hear her. It's as if she were too far away... like those monsters when their mouths move. Is she becoming one of them? Or am I venturing too close to my demons?
"You don't look fine" she said, worry filling her eyes little by little. "Come sit."
She took my hand in hers and pulled me over to the couch. I sat with her, wondering what that was for. Did she want to talk to me? Does this mean I have to talk about... them?
"What's wrong, Lone? I've seen you act surprised a few times over the past few years. But lately, it's gotten worse. You're scared of the dark, and you've never been scared of it. Sometimes, you suddenly become so pale I think you might faint. And often, I also see you staring at a corner of the room you're in, fear in your eyes. It's like you're paralyzed. What is going on, my precious child?"
She was begging me to explain why I was acting the way I was. I wanted to tell her that if she was seeing the same things as me, she'd understand why the only thing keeping me sane was the light. But I owed her more. So I opened my mouth, and pronounced the words that would certainly send me to my death if I was talking to anyone that wasn't my mother.
"I... I think I'm insane. Mother... I see things I shouldn't be able to see" I whispered, tears creating themselves in my eyes. "I see people. I don't know who they are... But they scare me."
I was hugging myself, as if I were trying to protect myself from anything that might bring me harm. I couldn't face my mother's eyes, so I closed mine. I didn't want to set my eyes upon her realization that her youngest child might actually be insane. But her arms soon joined mine around my body and she leaned her head over mine. And at one point, I could feel the watery feeling of her tears falling on my head, wetting my hair. My eyes shot open. She was crying...
"It's gonna be okay, Lone. Believe me, okay? Everything's gonna be fine, my sweet girl" she reassured me, and I could feel the honesty of a mother.
When, finally, she took my face in hers, pulling me away from our embrace, she stared right into my eyes, claiming my attention.
"You will listen to me, Lone. I want you to write your feelings on paper. I want you to spill them out. And if it requires any more effort for you to understand what you're going through, then explode. Explode, if it's what it takes for you to free yourself. And then, you are going to burn the letter, sending it to the heavens. When they will hear you, your demands, your silent begging, they will free you, my daughter. Once it has completely disappeared will it reach them. Then, you shall be free..."
She let out the last words in a whisper so low that I thought she didn't say them. She let go of my face and got up. She took my hand in hers.
"Do you want me to fetch you a paper and a pen?"
"Yes, mother, I beg of you. I don't want to be scared anymore" I begged as I was looking into her eyes.
"I promise, you won't be scared anymore" she breathed out.
She slowly let go of my hand and walked out of the room, leaving me utterly alone.
I wished she wouldn't have. I wanted to get rid of them, but now... I could feel their hate from behind me. I didn't want to turn around towards them. I didn't want to face my fears once more, because they felt multiplied by what I had just accepted to do. But it offered one satisfaction ; it would get rid of them.
When my mother came back, she had brought ink, a pen and a few sheets of paper. She then left me alone in the setting sun. I wrote and then I crushed it between my hands. It wasn't good enough. It wasn't my feelings. I was writing nonsense... because I wanted to be freed as soon as possible. But I was not taking my time and I knew that if I dared approach the fireplace with any of those letters I just wrote, I would be instantly declined by the heavens before my supposed feelings reached them. So I spent hours before paper, with words scrambling in my head, the pen in between my fingers, having to refill the ink a few times here and there. The closer I was to my freedom, the closer the demons were. I could feel their presence still. How enormous they seemed in such a small room. And I couldn't concentrate. With the pressure they were placing upon my shoulders, I felt their desire to torture me for the sentences I had already written.
It was three hours later, when I took a loud, long, exhausted breath, did I have the courage to chase the demons away. If even for a few minutes could they leave me alone with my mind, I would be able to explode. So I did. For five minutes straight, without interruption, I wrote until my fingers were too tired to press the pen against the paper. Until my whole body was worned out. Once I was done, I stood up, leaving the pen in the small jar of ink and edged near the fireplace. I took a match, lit it and threw it. I looked at the folded letter I had just written and finally, before they could reach me, I let it fall from my hands. I stayed until it had become ash.
And when I quit the room, the sun had completely set. I have never felt that safe walking in the halls of my parents' house in the complete dark of the night.