My voice echoed in the bathroom as I began to yell in frustration. Did I need to call a priest to come here, find me wacko, and then the town avoid me like some filthy bum on the streets? Like it was my fault?

I turned quickly, and the shadow, again, was gone. However, when I faced the mirror this time, my blood ran cold. Steam replaced where I had wiped, and then, as if some invisible finger was floating in the air, I read aloud the words it wrote across my blurred reflection, “Do Not Hear, Do Not Look.”

I asked, “Do not hear or look? What the fuck does that mean!?” yelling again, but the house’s response was silence.

Whoever or whatever it was left me to figure it out alone.

Going to the kitchen after I was dressed, I grabbed more chips and chewed hard. I wasn’t hungry, but I refused to smoke or drink, so it was as close to relieving stress as I could muster.

When I was done and the bag of chips had been demolished, I noticed the house got colder as temperatures started to dr