At first, a whisper in the night. Your name it says sweetly. Like it might want you there in its cave. Like a shadow passing below the waves under the boat, sinister and secretive. Or perhaps a shrouded figure standing in the doorway to your room, it’s head slightly tilted. Or the one at the end of your bed, hands tightened around the tools it’s brought along. Initially, the whispers were quiet and kind. Now they scream, throwing stuff against the wall so that it shatters.

Like you’re caught in the middle of a storm, between two entities. Like you’re battling out four hundred battles. Confused, strangled with the trouble, they call out to you like a siren to the sailors. Wax, ropes, bindings— none of it will save you from your deathly fate, for the voice is now so loud, your ears bleed in agony.