He became a haunted house inside of himself. You could walk down his halls and at times remain perfectly sane and healthy and unafraid. And other times, the spectre flew through the halls and burned alive everything it touched. He hid inside, as much as he could, because the footsteps made his heart race. The long shadows down the hall. The fingernails across the frosted glass, diamond hard fingernails slicing the mirror in two. It'd come for him like it always did. Not a day would go by without the the shrieking starting, the chains rattling and that wretched wailing. He can never move away. He can never get away. He is here in this crumbling mansion he built inside himself and can't even open the door.

Photo - N
Words - S