Tasha glanced over the scattered paper and began to read:

“I’m not real
I’m not fake
I haunt your mind even when you wake
I’m even in your dreams
I hear your screams.”

It seemed off to her; it sounded like the nightmares that she so desperately wanted to cease. The ones that made her blood curdle, the screams, the manic laughter and the blood. The blood was the worst; the psychopathic, twisted murders that must have happened in order to gain the smooth liquid.

She woke immediately: Her forehead drenched in clear sweat. She looked around her and small outlines of objects began to take shape. She noticed a shape that was not there previously: it was the head of a human, or so she thought, some kind of malicious entity. As she stared into its eyes, captured perfectly in the glinting moonlight she realised her worst fears: it was a man full of malice, ready to pounce and torture her phsycologically; Oscar Bailey with his hazel eyes.