Tuesday, June 5, 1973

Eliza


Eliza and I were sitting in our room when Robert threw open the door. “They’re everywhere!” He screamed, “Get out of the house!”

As the words came out of his mouth, insects started crawling from the vents and under the door. They seemed to phase through the floorboards. There were more than just cockroaches this time. There were hideous things: spiders and beetles and centipedes and flesh eating things.

“YOU DO NOT EXIST!” I cried in response. Despite my spell, they continued to pour from the ground and the walls and the ceiling. “YOUDONOTEXISTYOUDONOTEXISTYOUDONOTEXISTYOUDONOTEXIST!!!”

Robert stared at me as if I were insane. “What are you doing? Of course they exist!”

“Monsters are only as real as you believe them to be.” I told him.

It was too late, though. Eliza was gone, the swarm had hollowed her out from the inside, erupting from her skin like volcanoes.

I ran.

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