Rachel had set the table with a platter of cold cuts and cucumber cream sandwiches. Both she and Alexander dug in eagerly. I slowly pulled apart the sandwich on my plate, my paranoia unbearably heightened. Why had Kiiji told me that I couldn't rely on Damian to help me? Why would he care? It was the first time the reaper had said more than a few sentences to me, and his words had seemed such a dire warning. Dangerous beings...more dangerous than Damian knew...what did he mean?

"Not hungry?" Alex spoke around a mouthful of beef cuts. Rachel looked immediately concerned, and I hoped she didn't think it was because I disliked her food.

"Not as hungry as I thought," I said, with the weakest smile I had managed yet. I still felt as if the food I'd eaten that morning was going to come up. I sipped at my water, but I needed something else. I needed to calm down. "Is there any wine, Rachel?" My voice was almost pleading. I had very seldom drank in my life - besides sips at communion and the occasional drink with the girls at the Doll House. Rachel smiled, held up a finger to let me know to wait, and took part of a sandwich with her before she went - presumably to fetch the wine I had requested. Alex looked as if he was considering saying something, but filled his mouth with more food and remained silent.

Rachel returned with a dry red wine, exactly the kind I liked - bitter and savory. I filled a glass - certainly fuller than was proper - and gulped through the first serving. Both Alex and Rachel gave me rather quizzical looks. Rachel let it go before Alex did. The man watched with slowly narrowing eyes as I poured myself more.

"Big drinker for a wee thing," he said. I finished my second glass, even though the final swallow went straight to my head and the room spun for a moment. But it did the trick: my lingering panic seemed suddenly inconsequential. I shrugged, as if it hadn't had the slightest effect on me.

"I have a high tolerance," I said, though my words slurred ever so slightly. I was able to eat then, even though the food felt like wax in my mouth.

Oil and wine, oil and wine, oil and wine-

My drinking did not stop with lunchtime. I took the bottle with me from the table and carried it about the house, swigging from it every few minutes. Alexander had apparently not been told to prevent me from getting drunk, although he seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Might be time to put down the drink, lass," he said, when I announced that I was going to retire to my room for a bit - with my wine still in tow. I'd grown irritated with him following me all about the house like a dog, as if I would burst into flames the second he took his eyes off me. I didn't need a nanny. I gave him a glowering look.

"Oh I'm sorry, lad," I said, making such a mockery of his accent that his face looked rather stunned. "Last I checked you weren't my father. I'll drink as I wish." Just to drive it home, I took another sip from the bottle. They were getting a little harder going down, but at least I didn't have to think about the Grey One anymore. I didn't have to think about Kiiji and his strange warnings, I didn't have to think about the voices in my head. The more I drank, the less sense they made. It seemed a fine scenario to me.

"Damian wasn't wrong," Alex said, and rolled his eyes. "You are a damned sassy one."

"Are you going to tell Daddy Damian when he gets home?" I went on, still mocking, unable to stop. "Tell him I've been bad to the nanny?" I waved him off, as if he were little more than a pesky fly. I was ready to march out, seclude myself to my room and be done with him, but...

"Daddy Damian? I've certainly never heard that one before."

Damian was already home. Alex didn't need to tell him a thing. By the expression on his face - somewhere between amusement and disbelief - I suspected he'd heard almost the entirety of our exchange. He slipped off his long coat, dripping with rain, and set his bag down beside the doorway.

"Had a bit to drink, Samara?" he said casually, as he rolled up one shirtsleeve and then the other. The action made me quiver in an entirely unwholesome manner. He was wearing leather gloves, an item that took me straight back to the last purpose I'd seen them used for. "You know, when I asked Alex to stay here with you today, it was in the hopes that it would bring you some comfort. Not that it would cause you to revert to being a petulant child throwing a tantrum."

Very slowly, I took another sip from the wine bottle. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

Damian nodded, took a few steps forward, and very deliberately plucked the bottle from my grasp. "I'm sure it's been a long day for Alex as well. Samara, you're swaying."

The room was indeed spinning, but I waved him off and brushed past him, toward the stairway, muttering that I was going to bed despite the early hour. I heard Alexander speaking in hushed tones as I went up the stairs, asking why Damian wasn't going after me.

"I need to let her be," he said in return. "This isn't easy for her either Alex. Just imagine if..."

Their voices faded as I reached the second landing. I felt as if I might be sick, and had to pause there to let my stomach settle. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want to have to think about any of it anymore - not the demons inside me, not the fact that I couldn't be trusted alone, not that I knew I was behaving badly and somehow couldn't stop myself. All the way up to the third floor I went, and sequestered myself into my room. Rachel had replaced the flowers on my nightstand with fresh ones, and the sight of them alone almost made me sob.

I was a mess, utterly and truly. I'd had such hope after Krahia was cast out and yet...I now felt as if I was only getting worse. I could barely even muster the bravery to face the Grey One - where was the courage I had felt facing Krahia?

I sat upon my little bed, knowing I was too frustrated to sleep. Part of me wished Damian had indeed come after me. Part of me wished he had just spanked me then and there and let me be angry, let me fight him and curse at him and get all of it out. But no...as Kiiji had said, I couldn't always depend on Damian. I had to work myself through this...

I let my head rest in my hands, regretting all the wine. My stomach rumbled with hunger, but the thought of food brought on a wave of nausea. As if from a great distance, I could hear the voices cackling. Their words faded in and out, sloshing about my head as if they were speaking underwater. Groaning, I curled up on my side and closed my eyes. I had to just sleep it off...

I focused on my breathing. I let the sound of every inhale and exhale fill me, until it was all I could hear. Except...there was another sound, below my breathing. It was subtle, almost indiscernible from the normal creaks of the house. It sounded like a ticking clock.

I slowly opened my eyes. There was no clock in the room. There was no clock outside. What then...was that...? I listened closer, trying to determine where it was coming from. The harder I listened, the more I realized that it did not sound exactly like a clock ticking. It sounded like scratching.

It sounded like it was beneath the bed.

Cold washed over me. I wanted to scream, but I remembered what Kiiji had told me: Don't panic. Don't give it what it wants. Face it. Slowly, holding my breath, I scooted to the edge of the bed and peered over.

Nothing. But the scratching...the scratching was definitely coming from down there.

Don't panic - don't panic - don't panic - don't panic -

I leaned over the edge. My hair dangled down and brushed the floor. I had to look. I had to face it.

Don't panic - she's waiting - don't panic - what are you doing? - don't panic - watch out for the teeth, little Samara -

I lifted up the blankets dangling over the underside of the bed, and peered into the gloom. It was dark...dusty...and there...

Her huge white eyes stared at me. Long black hair splayed around her like a nest. I could see the moist gray flesh of her arms. Her rotten, blackened nails scritch-scritch-scratched at the floorboards.

I tumbled from the bed, and scrambled on my hands and knees across the floor. I pressed my back into the corner, my breathing ragged, my eyes stinging with tears. Face it, face it! I had to. I couldn't run away from it anymore. The blankets at the edge of the bed billowed, and one long gray limb clawed its way out. The Grey One dragged wetly forth, halfway out from under the bed. She lay there, bones clicking, nails scratching, and opened her mouth...

"You've brought this on our family. Made us a laughing stock of the town. The men all laugh at your father! They tell him he can't even keep his own daughter in hand!"

It was my mother's voice. Shrill, panicked, tearful. The words she'd hurled at me every day she'd seen my belly swell a little more. I wanted to cover my ears, but no. It was not only in the room, it was in my head.

"What man will ever want a girl who looks so plain?" Echoes, echoes of pain, guilt, and shame. My mother with wine in her glass at breakfast. My mother with spoons of oil - one for me, one for herself. "You've been cursed with my boyish figure, Samara, absolutely cursed." Thick oil in hopes I would gain weight. Wine so my mother wouldn't feel guilty anymore.

"You know your father loves you, that's why he hits you! If he didn't love you he wouldn't bother!"

I wanted it to stop. I desperately wanted it to just stop. But I had to face the monster. I couldn't show it my fear. So I sat there, trembling, curled into the corner, letting memories in the form of words pelt over me like so many stones.

A/N: Happy October, my loves! AKA, the 31 Days of Halloween :3 I'm doing so much writing-wise this month I may have stretched myself a little thin, but that's okay! (Who needs sleep, eh?) If you're ever in the mood for more sexy (or spooky!) things, head on over to my website because I'll be posting short stories there all October for GORETOBER! There will be gore, there will be kink, it will be awesome and ridiculous.