“Take it.” Say the whispers in my mind

“No.” I say to myself.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hurt myself.”

“It won’t hurt. Just take it and cut.”

“Really? It won’t hurt? Are you sure?” I ask talking to the air.

“We’re sure. trust us. it will heal eventually..”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do it.” The voices hissed.

I then took the knife and sliced a shallow cut on my arm in the middle. The pain came at me like a tsunami descending on a town. And I liked it.

“You told me it wouldn’t hurt!” I said whimpering. Hand on wound with a paper towel, trying to not bleed out.

“Why did you believe us?” They said almost laughing at me.

“I don’t know anymore.” I said still patching up my arm. “I should really not listen to you.”

“But will you?”

“Yes, probably.”

(Not my best work at all, but I just wrote what came to mind; I guess. Don’t listen to those voices. They are made of the devil himself.)

“You control your thoughts. You control your attitude. You control your actions.”

She tapped her pen on the ink-filled paper. My leg shook a constant up-and-down motion, getting faster with each of the therapist’s words. It was the only sound in the room despite the ticking grandfather clock. She was older than it and had a small British accent. Mrs. Charlotte took her glasses off and folded them with frail, spotted fingers. “Do you ever feel like you cannot control these things, Rylee?”

I knew she was paid a good amount to talk to me like she was converting a devil into something better. I knew she didn’t do a lick of good in me. If anything, she made things worse. I licked my lips slowly and leaned forward so my leg would stop moving on its own.

“The voices I hear,” I shake my head and smile, “I swear sometimes you see them too.”

Her brows furrow and she moves her head slightly to the side, so she’s looking at me sideways. I hate when she does that. “What makes you think such a thing?”

“Besides the weird looks you give me, besides the writing you do on that paper,” I lean back and cross my legs. I bring a cold hand to my chin. They’re always cold. “Despite it all, I almost like you. Because I think you see. You see what I see.”

She puts her glasses back on and scribbles something down. I hate that too. But she buys my lies like they might be going out of stock. I promise they won’t- although I use up one with each ‘I’m okay’.

“What do you see?” She looks back up at me, her grey-ish eyes nearly look dead, darkened. Faded.

“I hear voices. I see shadows that move. Ones that don’t belong to anything here. Nothing alive, breathing. Ones that shift and change. They answer and talk.”

“There was a boy that came here. He saw stuff all the time. Do you believe you are like him?” She’s comparing. I hate that too. But I won’t let her know she’s getting under my skin, she likes that more than the devil likes her sinners. But that’s okay; I’ve learned to be emotionless. Even with the blood on my hands, I shrug.

“Do I know him? Then I’d guess not.” “Do you think you see what he sees?” “No. I don’t see what he sees.” “Why do you say this?”

Anger boils up and I grin. She knows it’s fake, because my dimple didn’t show. She sits back and takes her glasses off again.

“Rylee?”

I don’t have an answer. I don’t know why they told me I didn’t see what he sees. I wait. Wait for them to tell me something else. I bite my tongue out of bitterness and shrug again.

“I think they are keeping secrets.”

She pulls back like I slapped her across the face. That’s when I show her the dimple, because a fragile little bunny just landed in my well set trap.

And I think I just might’ve snapped its neck.

I learned a little something more today about internal monologues Some people hear voices in there that aren’t their own Separate, even. I wish I had that excuse Then maybe I wouldn’t carry the guilt with me, Because they wouldn’t be my thoughts

But I am what I think What I think is who I am Said I wasn’t going to read more tonight, But thoughts hatched a plan

And I’ve done this before, But I feel guilt for it now? I guess because I’d used my sleep as a bargaining chip. I’m proving unreliable Hope mom doesn’t find out

So debating with myself? Exactly how it sounds I have one thought, My other thoughts disagree, And yet both persist Both stick around

So If I can’t control my own thoughts, How can I control myself? My impulses get the best of me often My subconscious sings aloud

I don’t understand myself I don’t understand a lot right now If I don’t have to believe something to think it, How will I know when the intrusive thoughts mean a real problem?

Maggie felt hairs rising on her neck. “Are you sure what he said is true?”

The priest nodded, “Yes,” he pointed toward the mirror, eyes looking down. “She appears in it.” He left this trail here. “The point is, through this and the man, Conrad, pieces of your clippings tie in. Elizabeth herself was led from that room. Into a kitchen where there was a cellar. Within was a hatch leading to a false wall where a child had been bricked in alive.”

Maggie’s face drained. To be buried alive was one thing. Jacob mentioned the watchmen as they entered the cemetery. They listened for the tinkling of a bell as some poor soul opened their eyes in the darkness. That didn’t bear thinking about. Saved by the Bell, it had a solid foundation as a saying. But to brick up a child that was not even comatose was unthinkable.

“I see this sits badly, Maggie, as it should for any normal circumstance.”

“But you’re a priest, dammit.”

“And an exorcist,” he looked at her, gauging reactions. “Another thing I keep secret lest all manner of miscreants seeks blessings of a different kind.” He turned toward a bookcase. In it was a panel which he pulled aside. Within that was a latch. This he released, and the shelving opened outwards.

Another small room came into view that was floor-to-ceiling in oak. On it were books and parchments. All looked old, with some scripted in long-dead languages, but Maggie's eyes rested on a cabinet. The staves within it she did recognise. More elaborate than those they had entered the graveyard with, but the function remained the same.

“What are you, father?” She hated secrets and those of God had worn her out. Divine knowledge held to combat the darkness locked away leaving followers like the priest shunned by non-believers as a charlatan. It would do Joan of Arc no good as a defence, or the Knights Templar for that matter. Or them if the sanguisuge came knocking.

He picked a book from the case, “Read this when time allows, Maggie.”

The title was in French, Affaire des possédées de Loudun. She looked quizzical.

“I know you are fluent in several languages. This is an example of why such matters are not public. However, this distracts from your question.” He paused, contemplating, before taking courage from his faith. “The story goes the child was a monster, a sanguisuge from long before the beechwoods took the house. The marsh was once pasture. It was created to purge a folly in the centre. Some say this is the resting place of the child's creator; others say it is a gateway to Hell itself. Either way, it has passed into common lore as unconsecrated. A desecrated place that is a door to another world full of magic and daemons.”

“If it were not for Eleanor, I’d think you a madman.”

“Hence the need for secrecy.”

"Something's wrong with me." Realization strikes me like a thunderbolt, forcing me down to the hard bathroom floor. The words forcefully escape my lips and drip down my face like sweat.

Frantically, I reach out to gather them, to put them back where they belong, keep them unspoken.

No, there's not.

There's not.

I lay on the cold bathroom tiles and stare up at the ceiling. "What's wrong with me?" I whimper.

Don't say it.

Nothing.

You're delusional.

They taunt, their whispers growing.

You're imagining this.

"Stop!" I shout.

Nothing's real! They cry out, the echoes of their words bouncing off the walls of my mind.

Nothing.

"You're lying." My voice is barely audible, yet filled with accusation. "You're lying. You're lying? Why are you lying?"

What? They mock. What? They repeat.

"Stop!" I plead.

Nothing.

"What are you saying?" I ask. "What are you keeping from me?" My voice shakes with desperation.

Their response remains the same. “Nothing.”

The room falls into silence, broken only by the sound of my own breathing. I turn the light off, plunging the bathroom into darkness, and lay in the bathtub in fetal position, my heart pounding in my chest.

They're following you! They suddenly shout, their collective voice a chilling chorus.

I rise to my feet, my eyes darting around the room. "Who?" I exclaim. "Who's following me?!"

Nobody. They say. “You’re delusional.”

I screamed so loud, their voices echo while I’m sleeping When I heard the secrets they were keeping Fading in conversation to hear them screech Searing my insides like a glass of bleach

Whispering reminders of failures in my past Rain on my parade, laying waste to a sunny forecast Doing anything to escape the internal riot The curse of having a mind that won’t keep quiet

Avoiding thoughts of mine like landmines As the vultures try to escape the four wall confines Waking every morning, never ready for the war They get louder the more and more I try to ignore

Don’t know which side the voice is on Their secret is that neither I wish them gone Their swarm killing but the silence more deafening I need them there even if I’m always beckoning

Happy the day we can say we survived the great war Not knowing a second one is coming, only worse than the one before

LLK.

‘Voices, they’re always just lying. Vices, they’re always just dying. Violence, it’s always so deadly. Violins, they were made for playing.’

Please, don’t listen to me, man. Please, don’t take it from me, friend. These lines are so weak, and I’ll be here all week, man.

Sorry.

I was sorta thinking, when they creeped inside my head. I was kinda screaming, when I heard them secret keeping.

‘Insides, are just outsides in. Insights, let us see within. Ignite, let’s put you to flame again. Inlets, are where things get let in.’

Please, don’t follow what they say. Please, don’t follow what they make. These… these voices are weak, and They keep keeping secrets.

Sorry.

I was halfway dreaming, when they arrived in my mind and started loudly weeping. I listened closely from the shadows to the secret voices secret keeping.

‘Perfect, I know that’s not me. Progress, cut ‘em at the knees. Processed, yeah that’s what we eat. Penguins, they are constantly freezing.’

Wanna tell me what this means? They said blue frogs wear green jeans? Wild hogs eat black beans? Hummingbirds ain’t got wings? I don’t know, friend. These voices are secret keeping.

(I apologize for nothing.)

I smiled as I left the nursery. Three days and I’d finally been able to get rid of the powdery mildew in my section. The boss had even treated me to a few tomato seeds to grow at home. They would go perfect with the basil I was growing. Someone caught my eye as I crossed the street. He seemed familiar. But it was hard to tell with the beard. “You should take the alley.” The voice was accompanied by the start of a headache. But bad things happened when I didn’t listen to the voices in my head. I dove into the alleyway but stopped when the bearded man appeared on the other side. He seemed occupied on the phone so I ducked into an open door. Once inside I took the elevator up to the roof. Better to wait him out. Besides I wanted to check on the community garden I’d help the apartment residents start. My phone rang just as I stepped out of the elevator. It was the guy I’d been talking to for the past week. Just seeing Ricky’s name brought heat to my cheeks. “Hello detective.” He sighed, “You know you don’t have to keep calling me that, Mary.” I giggled as I righted a marker in the seedling box. “What’s up?” “Where are you right now?” “On a roof.” “Wait. Do you know parkour too?” “I took the elevator.” Who did he know that did parkour? “Right. Of course you did.” He let out a breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “Don’t tell her you idiot.” Another voice rang in my head. “I told you he can’t keep a secret.” The other voice whispered. “They told me not to but…” He paused. “I feel like you should know.” Could he hear them too? Were these voices more than my imagination? In that case what were they? “Don’t freak out but…” The elevator dinged. And the bearded man stepped out. “You’re dad’s back. They released him today.” The bearded man smiled at me. A ringing started up as a clean shaven version flashed across his features. Dad. A shock ran through me as I was pulled back. It was all black now. But somehow comforting and warm. I closed my eyes to sleep.

“Where is flash drive, Mary.” Dad said with that damn smile. I blinked up at him, hating that he’d found us so quick. Hell, he wouldn’t even have noticed us if I’d been in the driver’s seat. But Mary’s job was so boring. “I won’t ask again, little girl.” I bared my teeth feeling the wolf come to the surface. But that alter could never go against Dad, her training ran too deep. “Mary!” “I heard yah.” I said backing away until I hit the ledge. “But that was so long ago, how could you expect me to remember?” “I’m not the only one after that flash drive. Anyone else would kill you on sight.” “Thanks for the heads up.” I said, tucking the phone in my jacket and zipping it up. “This isn’t a game, Mary. This is your life at stake.” I have him a smirk. With him it was always this and that. Better to just fall back. He shouted as I fell through the air. But I grabbed a fire escape railing and flipped back upright. After kicking off the wall, I landed in the alley. I looked up to see Dad’s shocked face. And with a salute I ran off. My pocket vibrated and I pulled the phone out. Ricky’s name popped up with a heart. I rolled my eyes as I answered it. “What’s up Rick?” “Runa? What made you switch with Mary?” “Just a surprise visit from Dad.” I said hopping onto a dumpster and scaling the side of the sandwich shop. I could take the rooftops home from there. “I’ll meet you at your apartment then.” His car started in the background. “Do you have any idea what he wanted?” “Not a hug that’s for sure.” “Runa.” I huffed as I scanned the rooftops. All of them were empty without a single camera. Perfect. I launched into the air and landed on the first roof. “He wanted some flash drive. But I don’t remember anything about it.” “How about Dana?” “I don’t know. She’s been quiet ever since the switch.” “Alright well be careful. Your Dad’s not the only one who got out today.”

They’re lying to me and I know it. They whisper when they don’t think I can hear them, and while their words are hidden, their tone is prevalent. They’re plotting, and I don’t know if it’s against me or for me. Either way, they aren’t allowed to hide. They aren’t allowed. I want to rage. But then they’ll know that I know. And that is bad. So I wait. I plot against them, like they are against me. And when the time is right (they won’t know), I’ll make sure they don’t ever break the rules again (they aren’t allowed.)

It all started about two weeks ago, the voices in my head.They first began as simple one word whispers, nothing audibly clear. Then they grew to sentences. Each one is different, but they’re definitely not mine. Nothing they ever say makes any sense, at least not to me they do. One morning one voice woke me from my 15 minute sleep and said, “Don’t trust the voice that speaks of fire, they’re only trying to hurt you.” That same night another voice said, “Don’t trust the voice that warns you about me. I’m the only one who is trying to protect you. “ The voices only got more intense from then on out. They never stopped for more than an hour a day, leaving me to only get about 15 minutes of sleep each night. You’d think I would have lost my mind by now but I’ve managed to stay strong. Then one morning a new voice emerged from the deepest darkest part of my mind and revealed to me a secret the other voices seemed to have been keeping from me. Only it didn’t speak to me in my head, it called me on the phone. It rang only once before I picked up the receiver to hear a slow breath. “Who is this!,” I demanded into the phone.
The voice simply replied, “The only one who knows your mind better than you.”