Dear Limh,
Now, the nightmares begin. The faces come first, their features indescript, pressed up against the walls of my room, through the wood like that odd face on Mars. I can see them moving beneath the walls, shifting towards me. An eye presses itself to an opening in the plaster , blinks, stares into my own. I turn away, incensed with fury and violation. I am afraid. I do not know who it is. I no longer know the lay of the land. I know no longer know the lay of the faces.
He approaches. I see the steel weapon in his hand. I feel one in my own. I look down . . .
The Devil
