Don't Look Up When I was little, the nightmares started. I'd cry, "Mama! Mama! The monster was on the ceiling!" And she'd turn the light switch on. There was no monster. It was alright. I didn't have to be afraid. But I'm 14 now. Mama doesn't tuck me into bed. She doesn't know that when I turn off the lights and look up, I saw a demon. Black veins bulge from its chalk white face. Black bloodshot eyes peer out. Cracked lips frame rotting yellow teeth. Teeth that were fangs. But if Mama knew I saw it there, she'd send me to a therapist. Or the madhouse. Alright, I seem screwed up as hell, but last night, it was more gruesome, more horrific. It said my name. It bared its rotting fangs and whispered, "Elizabeth Stell." I didn't sleep at all last night. Tonight I should be fine. Tonight I just won't look up. Because that's where it is. It's always up above me. ••• I looked up. I said I wouldn't, but I did. And it was there, whispering again. "Elizabeth Stell, you're mine," it said. It's voice is like oil: smooth, dark, thick. Whenever I think about it, I feel a tingle on the back of my neck. I want to look up. It feels like its up there, watching me. "You're mine," it said. If that's not enough to scare you half to death, I don't know what is. That's what I am, you know. Half dead. I don't sleep anymore. I hardly eat. I'm scared half to death. •• It's everywhere. It's gnawing at my very spirit, every bone in my body. Every nerve is alerted. When I look in the mirror, I see it. When I look out my window, I see it. Hell, I even see it in the window of the ice cream parlor. Every person who walks by is the thing. What the hell am I supposed to do now? How can I go on if I'm claimed by a demon? It haunts my every step. Each breath I take, each little shift on the earth, I'm closer to it catching me. To being its victim. To it killing me. Unless I do it first. •• The noose was hung on my bedroom ceiling. If you don't look up, you'll never see me hanging there. So don't look up.