You’ve heard of those monsters. The kind that lurk in darkness, under your bed. Unseen and unknown. You might be missing a sock, and your mother tells you it was the monster that lives down there. “Don’t be messy!” She says. “Or else the monster will get you!” You cry and be good, cleaning and doing your laundry. You peek under your bed at nighttime and sigh relief when to unsee that there’s only dustballs. Remember that? That feeling of calm, security? You haven’t felt that since.

Mother didn’t tell you, but other monsters steal souls. Look at that family portrait there, on the mantle to the right. You know the man there, near your mother. Very well, actually. You called him father; in return, he stole your soul.