She fled into the night, mundane horror sneaking into every small detail- the way the melody did not halt, and the way it sped up, its staccatos deafening as they got louder and louder; they were unrelenting, but worst was the dread that they were not there- she had looked back and seen them for the last time when they encircled her, engulfing her world in terror and inescapable horrors- her hallucinations were no longer a bane on her cruel life, but something she begged for, needing it with every part of her being; and so, as she went inside those gates, their creak of welcome was uncanny: for she no longer wanted help; if she could just have that melody of mortifying dread following her, she would at least have something to run from, saying it was the last time and she'd escape. Now she was here, in the grounds of a candle-lit structure with sprawling gardens and hallways, she felt an oppressive force of gloom pushing onto the air, making it thick with a tang of disdain. It was so potent that it was hard to breathe- every breath was a battle between life and death; but she let that be her dissonance. Perhaps she could regain her sense of sanity with help. It was the thing she'd wanted, but those figures in the dark were friendly almost- their crooked smiles and candle-like melting faces had been all she despised, looking back now, however, she felt different; she needed them. Taking a deep, rasping breath, she lit the torches as she walked along with a match she had found at the door and walked through the rambling corridors- strange. The lanterns and candelabras should have been lit, and yet it was as if no one had ever been here to utter a single footstep; it was stale. Stale and unforgiving. Casting the thought aside and letting herself breathe, she found something, and alarm struck her like a bolt of lightning, making her jolt awake; there was a ringing at the end of the corridor. It seemed distant, just out of her reach; her legs trembling with the effort, she followed it like a wolf being tamed by a widow- overcome with grief, the widow at first cast it out of her mind, not wishing to think of anyone but him- he was a memory, however a one full of laughter and smiles. The wolf was alone, and hunted for itself, but something grew between them; if scorching tears fell like knives down her face, she would look to the lonesome creature, and it would already be there, its paw on her chair as if asking whether it could sit with her. Relationships cannot last forever, however, and so as they got close, something changed- if she looked down and could not find the creatures warm fur against her skin, she walked away in a rage; she yelled, as she had never done previously; fear began to fester. Not like mould, because that grew over time, and was only a smell and a growing doubt in the corner of your mind- mould was subtle, but the poor dog, in its innocence, knew immediately that something had changed between them; when once she turned him away, she now glared at him whenever he did not follow. His muted agony was patched up with cruel attempts to hold him down and make sure he couldn't escape, and that yelling filled his dreams with horror upon horror. He knew he could not change this, and so he tried to stay. Eventually, they despised each other's company like it was a vile stench that haunted every room they'd been in. It was as if it was grotesque and intolerable; love always dies, and though reborn, it had died again, replaced by false promises. But something lay ahead of Nieve. She felt it before she saw it- the phone. Hands quivering, she took it in her grasp. It was not answered until a second later, when an uncannily familiar voice whispered:

"Hello old friend. You've missed us. But if you wish to see us again-" The line cut off, and she beseeched to hear another word from those rasping tongues- they were in a chorus of rasps, and as the line returned, she looked behind her. What she saw made her heart race faster than it had before. They were here. Glee filled her gaze: they were here. With disdain in their burning eyes, they crept closer, all wearing the same long, torn white robes; their eyes, however, were black, not grey, but black and sinister. The phone crackled in a sinister tone, and she walked toward her strangely absent creatures of relief and anguish; they walked towards her, and she drifted through them- misery and loneliness began to wash over her skin, and she screamed. All she ever loved was gone before it ever began, and all she could do was scream- until her voice cords snapped, and her throat was raw with agony, she screamed, her voice a malady ringing out through the corridor's many archways and chasms. Then, as silence reigned once again over the world, she sighed. Tears fell down her cheeks, and she looked at her bedraggled attire, then to the winding corridor; the phone rang again, but she walked away, too solemn to hear a single sound as she walked away, silence deafening her to joy.