Twisted Lines of Mind

I heard a groan, and then a sharp, shrill laugh… It was a demoniac laugh—low, suppressed, and deep—uttered as it seemed at the very keyhole of my chamber door.

It was open—wide, wide open—and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. The sound increased—what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound—much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton… It grew louder—louder—louder!

"It is twenty years,” mourned the voice; “twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!”

It’s back again… the hollow night within me, the fracture in my chest, the sense of being unsalvageable. I thought I had escaped, but I’m trapped in myself once more.

The kind of sorrow that prowls through the midnight hours is a darkness of its own.