Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27012445-20160114221252

Have you ever asked yourself what it means to be "normal?" Who decides what is "normal"? How do you claim the title of "normal"? What standard is at our disposal that will confirm the accuracy of our conclusion that this is "normal" and that is not? I find it interesting that we inflict such obsession and self-imposed torment upon ourselves for such an undefined and subjective concept. Well, after much contemplation, I think I know the answer. Actually, I think I have known what it was since I was five years old. Do you want to know what "normal" is?

"Normal" is what everybody else is and what you are not.

I was five years old when any sense of normality was snatched away from me. In its place, fear, sadness, and despair grew. It spread like weeds into what became my "normal" way of life. You see, not all demons seek to possess your soul. They don't all go about the world, mindlessly craving only death and murder. Most have purpose and reason. Then there are the one that are collectors, for lack of better words. They find you and keep you; much like a farmer would could livestock. When a demon claims your soul, it begins with severing all your bonds of love and support. It wants you to be alone. It wants you isolated. It is from those feelings of hopelessness and helplessness that it cultivates the nourishment produced out of the victim's misery. My demon was called Mr. Wink. He first came to me when I was five years old, I am twenty-seven now.

My story began in a typical manner, not unlike most tales recounted as fiction or legend. It started with a sleeping little boy and the Bogeyman.

I first remembered the two hazy red orbs. They hovered in the corner of my room where my dresser sat. That was where the shadows were the darkest. It would use its claws to drag himself out of the blackness as if it was pulling its body out of a hole in the floor. Its naked body was gaunt and gangling with cloudy vapor that arose from its body; it swirled around him, rapidly forming and reforming. It approached in quick bursts of speed with a movement that was serpentine-like and lightning fast. An oily substance trailed behind him that also gave off a mist that evaporated into the air. It never fully stood but preferred to drag itself along the ground, migrating from one surface such as a corner of a wall or piece of furniture to the next surface. He would press against the surface it occupied and made seizure-like jerking movements with its arms, legs, and torso.

Its face was the worse. Two glowing red eyes with pinprick pupils looked out from a face devoid of any expression, much like an insect. It had an oval-shaped mouth lined with fangs of a spider instead of teeth. However, the other eyes that peered out really filled me with the most terror. There were more of them, all black, and circular with barbed hairs that protruded from the surrounding skin. The eyeballs pimpled its face and frantically blinked with a chaotic and unsynchronized pattern. The largest eye sat in the center of its forehead. The penetrating stare slowly blinked, giving it the impression it was winking at me.

The mist that wrapped around its body moved as if it was a living creature in itself, exploring its environment like a predator hunting for prey. Quickly, it encircled my tiny bed and encompassed my body. The monster grew closer to me. Overcome with terror, I screamed for my mommy. The black vapor poured into my mouth and pushed back all sound. With a sudden jolt, it felt as if an invisible sheet covered my body with a powerful force pulling down on the four corners, pressing me into the mattress.

On that first night, it approached my bed, grabbed me by the throat, and held me against the wall. Its bodily mist pressed and paralyzed my movement and restrained my voice. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Mr. Wink took one of its claw-like nails and caught a droplet of my tears as it rolled down my cheek and tasted it. He smiled. It spoke to me for the first time. It did not communicate with words or vocalization; it articulated its intent with images and feelings planted into my mind. It expressed a sense of ownership and possession. It was a proclamation that I now belonged to it. Threatening images and emotions slammed into my thoughts with a clear message that I was not to speak of him to anyone. It brought one of its single long clawed fingers to its lips and made the only sound ever to come from its mouth. It said, "shhh."

It turned to leave, but before going, it took one of its sharp pointed nails, touched the tip its tongue, and made two small incisions in the flesh behind my ears where they attached to my head. They were the size of a paper cut, but it hurt terribly. In three days, it had festered into a severe, painful skin infection that took over a month to heal.

Once it dissolved back into the shadows from where it came, I ran into my parent's rooms screaming in terror. Back then, my parents would soothe my fears and comfort their little boy. Once calm, they took me back into my room and showed me there was nothing to fear. There was nothing under my bed or in my closet. "You had a scary dream," They said. However, they relented, and I was allowed to stay with them, just this once. The next night, Mr. Wink came again and hissed in rage at my disclosure of his previous visit. Once again, I was pinned against the wall; its grip tightened on my throat. It sent images of desires and emotions of punishment.

He released me and then proceeded to kill my precious little kitten in front of me. My kitty was my best friend in the whole world, and I loved him so much. In the end, Mr. Wink grabbed my head and held my dear little one up to my face so that I could look into its eyes when it died. It then slapped my face several times with the small cat's limp and dead body. It threw me to the ground and silently disappeared into the shadows.

In the beginning, I could never predict when or how often Mr. Wink would pay me a visit. It might come for several nights; one right after the other. Other times, I would not see him for months. Even in its absence, it still affected both my waking and sleeping time. All my life, I've suffered the most terrifying and lucid dreams imaginable. I have seen everyone I have ever loved tormented and murdered countless times. I have been pursued on deserted streets by ape-like ancient creatures that held large spikes in their hands to crucify me. I have been attacked by every kind of water monster imaginable. I have been chased, stalked, and hunted. Shame, humiliation, and victimization were all that I ever knew.

Soon, I quickly realized that Mr. Wink's influence extended well beyond the supernatural and not limited to the confines of my bedroom in the darkness. It made sure it severed any source of support and love in my life. Things would happen. Strange and horrible things that always seem to indicate I was the culprit of the crime. I was seen as a mean, nasty, little child who thrived on disobedience and destruction. In school, if anything went missing, it would always be found in my possession. Any animals at school or in the neighborhood would also be found in my possession, all dead and in most cases mutilated. The most vulgar and hateful words would appear on walls or written on kid's locker or schoolbooks. The words would always be in my handwriting.

Mr. Wink's presence had now fully infested every part of my life. I had been transformed into a factory powered by sadness and despair that was in full production of whatever negative energies that it fed upon. Eventually, I would only see Mr. Wink himself when it came to feed. It was these times I saw mental images that formed the word "milking." It would hold its left hand above my face; palms down and fingers extended wide. The murky flesh on its palm would split open to reveal a large mouth. The mouth had teeth and a tongue and was identical in every way to a human mouth.

The mouth would begin stir, opening wide and contorting itself into funny faces as if yawning from a long nap. Then it would start to gag as if it wanted to throw up. The chokes became more intense and violent, all the while making loud and disgusting retching noises. A slender, slimy tube would emerge from the mouth and fall onto my face with a sickening "plop." The regurgitated esophageal tubule slowly would ooze down the sides of my face, and tiny little tendrils would emerge. As always, I would frantically struggle, but the mist held me in an unbreakable grip. The tentacle looked like black, intertwined intestines covered in veins. The tendrils that emerged from the tongue-like tentacle burrowed into my skin. However, the penetration was not just physical. It pierced through the suppositious barriers where the soul resides.

They entered through the skin of my neck, face, in my ears, in my nose and through the corners of my eyes. I felt them dig deeper and deeper and deeper. I guess whatever metaphysical substance produced from all the suffering and humiliation I stored way down there because the tendrils went deep within my incorporeal self to get to it. I was seven years old the first time I experienced being "milked."

That has been my life. Like any child who has lived a life of violence and abuse, I was a difficult child and eventually grew into the role that was placed upon me. That child grew into adulthood, plagued with trouble and drug abuse to numb the pain. Mr. Wink's invisible ubiety besieged my relationship with my parents with a hateful ferocity. Eventually, for their own peace of mind, they concluded that severing all contact with me was the only option for them to find any happiness again.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Mr. Wind ruined my life. I am condemned to a life of poverty and manual labor. I can't hold a job or make friends. My parents gave up on me a long time ago and passed away holding firm to their decision that they had no son. Mr. Wink took everything my parents did for me! He perverted everything into the vilest and most unforgivable displays of hate and debauchery. I never knew what it was like to have my mother and father look down upon me with pride and love. It was always with disappointment and eventually resentment. I have no one in my life today. I am abandoned. No one knows I am alive, and no one cares. I am all alone.

Today, somebody let me know I was wrong.

This morning, I opened my front door to my run-downed apartment and found a small package wrapped in brown paper and held together with a string. The box looked worn and battered. It struck me as odd that there was no name on the package. It bothered me at first. What if someone had left their shipment of meth at my door by mistake or something like that? In my kitchen, I gently pulled the ends of the twine tied around the package. The knot loosened with ease, and the paper fell away to reveal a small, antique, mahogany box. It was masterfully designed with the resemblance of a miniature treasure chest. I opened the lid to the box. Inside, resting on beautiful, dark, purple fabric sat a small glass jar.

The jar was made from a glossy and thick glass. The type of glass from old-fashioned soda bottles that swirled with brilliant emerald shades of green. The lid was also a thick glass with a clear rubber O-ring on its rim for creating a good seal when closed. It was attached to the jar by a shiny steel hinge that was fastened to a brass fixture that wrapped itself around the top of the jar and came together to form a latch made from silver. Etched into the glass, were a variety of strange figures and shapes. If I were to take I guess, I would say they looked like Nordic ancient runes. Like the ones, I saw on that show about ancient aliens. I laughed to myself, finding it funny.

Tied to the rim of to the lid was a note on a small piece of parchment that read,

If you know NOT your enemy, you will fail. If you know your enemy but NOT yourself; You may find victory, but at costs so very high.

When you know yourself, you are a mighty force. Never will you be bound or subjugated to another's will. May your enemies tremble under the shadow of your wrath.

You already have everything you will ever need. It is now time to FIGHT!

I read the words repeatedly, trying to get some meaning from the message. I fell asleep this way and begun to dream. I dreamed of my old bedroom. I was nine or ten and crying because I could hear that wet squishing sound once again. When Mr. Wink emerged, something was different. It staggered as if it was in pain. Its face appeared battered and beaten. It leaned on the wall and furniture for support, barely able to stand. It made its way to my bed and lifted its hand to reveal that foul mouth. It had just fed off me a couple of weeks ago. Why was it back so soon? I had not even recovered fully from the last feeding. It began to eat. It went deep, deeper than it has ever gone before. The tendrils drained every last drop of whatever nourishment I held. It did not stop! I had a sensation of being turned inside out. It hurt, and I felt the touch of death. In my mind, I heard something rip like fabric. The ripping sensation resonated throughout my entire being. It wounded me not only in my disembodied dream state, but also in my physical sleeping body in the here and now.

In my dream, Mr. Wink dropped my limp body to the ground. I landed with a hard thud. With my eyes wide open, my head slumped and fell to the side. I was too weak to move or even blink. My breathing came in loud, high-pitched wheezes every time I exhaled. Unable to move, I watched as Mr. Wink stumbled out of sight, apparently still injured. I wondered who would be capable of inflicting any harm on him. Everything became darker and colder as consciousness slipped away. That is where my memory of that night ends, but I lingered in the moment and continued to dream.

I laid there, no longer as a child, but fully grown as I am today. I felt my will to live or even maybe my soul leaking from the subconscious laceration inflicted in my dream state. Tears began to spill over and run down the side of my face. I wept for the life I never had. I mourned for all the pain inflicted on others because of me. I grieved because I knew I had been devoured completely. There was nothing left of me. There was nothing left to save.

A piercing blue-white light cut through the darkness. It filled the entire room with its radiance. Still unable to move, I watched as a figure emerged from the light. Standing over me was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her loveliness was not found in soft and colorful things. She was beautiful in a way that only a warrior could be beautiful. Her elegance glowed with kindness and fairness. She had the grace of one who was righteous and loyal. She carried exquisiteness capable of extreme violence and unimaginable brutality; merciless and without remorse towards any evil that would rise against her.

She kneeled beside me and cradled my head in her arms. She looked into my eyes and smiled. It had been so long since anyone had looked at me with such affection. She caressed my cheeks and told me not to worry; everything would be all right. She said my soul was precious and pure. She promised that soon there would be no more pain. I heard pleasant purring coming from the small animal that had made itself comfortable on my chest. I lowered my eyes and saw my little kitty from so long ago, now fully grown, looking back at me with piercing blue eyes that were slightly crossed. The woman told me that its spirit had been raptured from the grasp of the beast and spared the pain inflicted on its bodily shell. She said, never had the cat truly left me. He had always been at my side in ways I would never be able to perceive or understand. The noble cat served as the keeper of my light, preventing the beast from fully extinguishing my flame.

She took one of her hands and placed it underneath my head for support then asked if I was ready. I answered her with my eyes. She laid her other delicate hand on my forehead, and she went deep. She went deeper than Mr. Wink ever could. Still, she went even deeper and deeper until she reached the point where I was hemorrhaging whatever life force or essence that exists in the depths of my spiritual being. She touched the spot momentarily and then gently withdrew, leaving behind something that sealed my spiritual wound. I sat up, feeling the strength return to my body. I immediately grabbed my kitty and enveloped him in my arm. He rubbed its face against mine, purring even louder. The woman then placed both her hands on my face, gently kissed my forehead, stood and turned to leave.

Reluctantly my kitty withdrew from me and followed her. Before entering the light, she turned once more. She looked me up and down from head to toe. This time, a much different type of smile spread across her lips, and her eyes narrowed. She held my gaze with a commanding intensity and with the beauty that could only come from a warrior; she spoke with a resonance of goddess,

"Your enemies WILL tremble."

I woke with a start. I was in complete darkness except for the moonlight spilling through the cheap old curtains. The sun must have set hours ago. I was still breathing heavily from the dream. It felt wonderful to be loved and held dear by someone. I had a warm feeling travel throughout my body, tingling up and down my spine. I smiled and spoke aloud to the mysterious woman, "Thank you." As the words left my mouth, I saw my breath form into wispy puffs of smoke under the pale moonlight. A frigid cold air suddenly poured onto me like cold water. I looked up at the mirror hung on the wall across from me and saw the large menacing shape of Mr. Wink standing behind my chair. Its chest was rising and falling from pants of pure rage. It grabbed me as it did when I was a child and began to cut.

He started slowly. The pointed tips of claws scraped against the skin of my belly. He pressed down ever so slightly until the claws caught some imperfection in my skin and sliced through it. The cuts intensified, becoming more frequent. Each claw embedded itself in my flesh. The razor-sharp nails produced a single uninterrupted incision in my body. Its hand that covered my mouth muffled my screams. The "other" mouth emerged from the palm of Mr. Wink's hand and began to convulsively lick and bite my lips. With incredible force, it tried to insert its tongue into my mouth. All the while, Mr. Wink was immersed in its torment of my flesh. It had never been this violent before. It licked and spat on every cut. I knew this would be the end; even if I lived through the night, I wouldn't be able to survive the infection it was putting into each and every cut.

A flash of movement from behind Mr. Wink caught my attention. I saw a small dark form leap up from the floor to the top of the television. It sat completely still and silent in a regal manner unique to the feline species. It watched me intensely and slightly cocked its head. The tiny movement was enough to catch the moonlight in its eyes, and two vibrant green orbs exploded into existence out the darkness. I remembered those eyes from long ago! The silent and still form continued to look on and then slightly nodded its head. I did something I have never done before. I lifted my eyes for the first time and gazed into that face that has haunted me for so long. I never noticed how black the eyes were.

My hands began to twitch.

I never noticed the very faint green glow they gave off, making them even uglier. The jittery frantic eye movements clearly showed excitement at what they saw: my torment. A rage began to pour into me like a hot liquid.

My hands started to close into fists

Every muscle in my body contracted in my arm, legs and chest. My fists clenched tightly, and I cocked my arm back as far as I could go. It was at that moment that Mr. Wink noticed me looking at it. For a split second, we made eye contact. Everyone one those dirty, ugly eyes focused on me and a look of confusion spread across its face. I felt it slightly loosen its grip on me for only a moment. I knew this was my only opportunity. I took it, and I struck! I drove my fist towards the center of its face with a right-hook powered with all the desperate force I could muster.

To my complete astonishment, my arm cut through the mist that had paralyzed me for all of my life and my fist made contact with a very satisfying thud against its skull. I felt the impact of my fist slamming into its face, much like hitting a pillow or soft punching bag. Unprepared for the blow, Mr. Wink's head snapped back like a rag doll, and he stumbled backward with its arm flailing wildly in the air before crashing into my cheap dinner table. It was almost comical to watch. I stood there astonished at what I had done. I looked down at my fist and saw the redness on my knuckles. It wasn't redness from bruising or damage; they glowed softly like molten steel. I walked over to Mr. Wink. The misty formation its body produced was accumulating heavier around its eyes. It gave the appearance of tears welling up in it eyes. The look on its face showed both surprise and bewilderment as if it were saying, "You hit me?"

I looked at the feline shape, now sitting on an end table to our left. It was casually licking its front paw and cleaning himself, now and then glancing at me. I reached down, grabbed Mr. Wink, and lifted it from the ground, and I hit him again. I hit him repeatedly and again. I flew into a blind rage and unleashed a barrage of blows fueled by fury and hate. Mr. Wink collapsed once more to the ground. It picked itself up, outstretched its arms in a show of rage, and attacked with incredible rapidity. It shot from one spot to the next with lightning-fast, smooth, movements; claws and fang poised to strike. Its shape seemed to snap from one spot to the next at inhuman speeds, faster than the eye could see.

Suddenly, it began to slow down; almost like slow motion. No, that wasn't quite right. I could still see him maneuver with superior speed, but at the same time, I saw the slow motion of his attack plan clearly. My mind was capable of seeing both at the same time! This duel perception made it easy to evade and block any attack. Mr. Wink's rage exploded, and the vaporous form of his right arm began to solidify into a pointed sword-like blade. I quickly grabbed the aluminum bat I kept in the corner for the crack heads that frequented the area. Mr. Wink lunged at me, and I dodged to the left and then ducked under its follow-up slash. This was so easy. It stabbed at me, and I spun as its blade pierced the wall where I stood only moments ago. I brought the bat down hard at the base of its skull. There was a satisfying "CRACK,” and it collapses in a heap to the ground.

I brought the bat down on the dark shape quivering on the floor again and again in large overhead arcs. Crack! Crack! Crack! Its flesh was clinging to the end of the bat in strands of black tar-like mucous. It wailed in pain and agony with each impact. It begged and pleaded for me to stop. Mr. Wink was cowering in the corner, weeping and holding its hand up and begging me to stop. The mysterious cat was at my feet rubbing against my legs. It weaved in and out between my legs in a graceful figure eight. Purring loudly and all the while looking up and making eye contact with me. I dropped the bat, reached down, grabbed Mr. Wink by the throat, and brought him mere inches from my face, foreheads almost touching.

He sent me vibrant images of compassion and forgiveness. It was saturated with emotions calling for mercy and sympathy. All the things that were never offered to me.

Once more, I did something that it would never have thought to be possible. I sent him and vivid and powerful image of my own directly into its mind: an image of a little boy looking up at his mommy and daddy and holding onto one single wish. "I wish I could be normal."

I raised my free arm high with my hand poised like a cobra. I extended two fingers out into the shape of hooks. This time, I spoke my words. I wanted him to hear my voice.

"Look at me!"

I cocked my wrist on the hand that gripped its throat to angle his face forward so I could see those eyes. My kitty had jumped up to a chair next to us and was purring even louder, intently watching the scene.

"Never again, you filthy son of a bitch!"

I plunged the two fingers into the largest eye that sat in the center of its forehead, and I went deep. I went deeper than anyone ever has gone before. I extended my remaining fingers and embedded them into the surrounding eyes. I squeezed as hard as I could and felt the bone ridges of the eye sockets collapse under the force of my grip. I increased my effort and went deeper and deeper. I went deeper until I reached what I was looking for. I don't know what it was or even if it had a name, but I knew it was there. I got a firm grasp on it and pulled it out like a carrot from the ground. I removed my hand from the wailing creature and looked at my prize. I was holding a bundle of fluorescent roots that encapsulated a wispy, glowing orb. The sphere was suspended within the entanglement of gleaming roots and slowly rotated with a slight flicker. Without thinking or with any conscious thought, I shoved the orb into my mouth and swallowed it whole.

Mr. Wink's body began to thrash violently and convulse. The cries of agony and suffering began to echo and diminish as its body collapsed on itself, losing its ability to hold its form. It eventually disintegrated into a mucus-like fluid with streaks of black ink suspended in a liquid that still gave off wispy puffs of smoke.

I heard a sweet meow from behind me. The cat was now standing by the box containing the glass jar. I opened the case, removed the jar, and placed the remains of Mr. Wink into the jar. I guided the black oily mess like one would guide bubbles floating in the air. I flipped the lid, placed the silver latch in the bracket, and press the end piece down to lock it in. It snapped into place, and I heard an echoing "KER-CHUNK" boom in my mind and the runes etched into the glass momentarily glowed a brilliant green and quickly faded. I held up the jar and looked at its contents intensely. It swirled within the jar with sharp movements as if it were confused and disoriented. It was still alive. Alive, but now trapped forever within the confines of the small container. It would never escape; even if it did, it would never have the ability again to touch or interact with our side of the physical world.

I heard the meow once more and found my kitty had curled up on a spot on the sofa that was to its liking. He looked at me, and I knew he was here to stay. He let out a giant yawn and lowered its head. His gaze beckoned to me as if to tell me, "Come, it is time to rest now."

I love my little kitty. He is my best friend in the whole world.

10 Months Later I am driving through the winding roads that reveal breathtaking mountainous landscapes that are numerous throughout the East Coast. The roaring engine of my brand new Mustang rumbles through the frame of the car. I am pushing about 95 mph. I slightly press down on the pedal to accelerate the car to 110 mph. I really can't be late for this appointment.

I love the powerful sound of my car. It's invigorating. I have always loved muscle cars. I chuckle to myself. It was a hard decision choosing between the Mustang and the Camaro. I liked them both. In the end, I just gave in and bought them both.

In the days, that followed that final night. The swirling fluid within the jar began to speak. It was faint and barely perceivable. The familiar images were begging me to release it. It showed the walls of its prison burning its flesh and pleaded for relief; the torment was too much. It told me it had a proposal to offer. It wanted me to go to an abandoned house located in eastern Louisiana. I asked, "Why would I ever do that?" Expressions of goodwill filled my mind. It wished to show me a small sample of the knowledge it could share with me. Against my better judgment, I went and located the old house exactly where I was told it would be. It was a large abandoned mansion ravaged by time and nature. It was probably a beautiful plantation many years ago. I went to the farthest corner of the west wing and found floor boarding that was slightly a different shade of color from the others. Exactly as I was told there would be. I tore out the floor and found it opened up to a hidden sub-basement that appeared too modern to have been built at the time of the home's construction. I entered the tiny space and found exactly what I was promised - a stockpile of hidden riches and wealth; wealth beyond my wildest dreams, all for me.

Upon my return, the presence within the jar was giddy and fully of anticipation. It expressed pride in giving me everything it had promised, and now it was my turn. It demanded to be released for fulfilling its promise. I slowly reached for the jar and carefully held it in my hand.

I gave it a good shake to make sure the viscous fluid would coat the entire inner surface of the glass walls, seeing how terribly the wall burned its skin. I laughed at the jar and put it back in the chest, closed the lid and placed it safely in the back of my closet. I closed the door, entirely blocking out the muffled screams of rage.

Learning about this creature was difficult at first. After tireless work, I stumbled onto stories of similar accounts in a few of the Native American tribes of the Midwest. I traveled there at once to meet with the elders. I told them my story expressed a desire to learn about their history. They called them "ii daaka duushi," "The Harvester of Children." The Harvesters are known for acquiring large numbers of children as "livestock." They "farm" the children for the sustenance produced by despair and sadness of the child. An individual Harvester can have up to 50 children in its "herd" at one time. The life expectancy for the unfortunate child has never been known to exceed 13 years old. Death comes for the children mostly in the form of suicide. The old chief looks at me with gentle, but sad eyes and said,

"Never in our people's history has a child been spared this fate when the Daaka comes. Many mighty men of medicine and spirits have tried. They have all failed. None escape the Daaka's hold. None that is, until you."

He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Do you know how you were able to achieve this great victory?"

I shook my head.

"You had protection from the spirit world. Many gods dwell there. They protect us in ways we do not understand and cannot see. You are a warrior now. Go now, spirit warrior. Go with my blessing and prayers and be the warrior you were chosen to be."

He turned to the little cat that never left my side and with a joyful grin said, "You too, little one. Go and ravage the shadow land with the spirit of a mighty panther!"

Now, I spend my days traveling around the country looking for other children like me. Since Mr. Wink's defeat, I have put an end to the nightmares for five kids. When I met the first child, I discovered something amazing. I learned that if the child is in direct contact with me at the same time I am in touching the entity, the child absorbs a small portion of my power. It is nowhere near the strength of mine, but it's enough for them to fight back. I have also discovered that objects I touch become unaffected by the creature's ability to use its vapor form as a barrier. It is temporary and short-lived, but very effective. It is especially useful for such things as bullets, arrows, and knives. I chuckle once again to myself.

Those five entities were like Mr. Wink and just like him, they are now in my glass jar. Curiously, the liquid level within the jar remains the same even after I added the others. I can also hear the others from within the jar, but it seems that they are unaware of each other. They are confined within the mystical structure alone; all alone in a prison, that stings and burns their skin.

Today, I am on my way to see a little girl named Joanna, who lives in a small town in Northern New Hampshire. She has the most beautiful eyes and a face that radiates innocence. She has a Vlog where she shares the details of her sad life. She is often seen crying with despair at the unending sorrow that fills her life. She doesn't know how she can go on like this. Then, there are the nightmares. She has suffered from the most horrible nightmares for as long as she can remember. She makes vague references to someone, a woman, who is always watching her. Tonight, when the woman comes, she will find Joanna is not alone. Her tiny hand will be tightly clutched in mine. The woman will still see a frightened child, trembling with the terror only a child could know. That will please her. I will look down at the little girl and softly speak her name to remind her that I am here. When she looks up at me, I will smile and tell her,

"Tonight, I will give you everything that you will EVER need. It is yours! All you have to do is reach out and take it."

"Now, it is your time to FIGHT!" 