Sometimes at night, I dream of horrible things, waking with a scream in my throat and sweat on my brow, or even tears in my eyes. The worst part of it is that I know my nightly visions are not merely nightmares, but a replaying of the reality I have shaped in my life. A sad, often grim and always lonely reality.

I lost the man that I loved and mad a pact, a deadly pact, with the Grim One himself, to get back my love. He double crossed me, and I was trapped in a horrible and deadly contract, which lost me everything and left me with a child I could not bear to look upon.

And then my sister passed away, leaving me her daughter, Ophelia, to care for.

Ophelia and I are like strangers who inhabit the same space but do not really interact at all. She goes to school, the mall, and hangs out with those boys — Ripp Grunt and Johnny Smith — and never listens when I try to talk to her about love or life. I want to warn her that happiness is fleeting and sorrow is everywhere, but she will not listen.

She recently left for college. It is only La Fiesta Tech and it is close by, but I feel it in my bones that I will not see her again in this side of life.

In Ophelia’s absence, the house is so quiet except for the screams in the night, and I have adopted a cat. He is a lively thing, whom I call Cat.

Cat sleeps on my bed at night and guards against the dreams and specters which I fear.

But I also fear that there are some things he cannot safeguard against.

I have had the dream again… it comes almost every night now and grows more intense with each night.

I stand alone in the dining room, and I can feel the mists swirling around me, just as it did the night my Beloved died.

He approaches… the Grim One himself.

I am unable to move as he uses his scythe to cut me in twain, separating my sole from my body.

Which, of course, is silly, because I know that when he comes, he brings his zombies with him and they will dance on my grave once my contract is fulfilled.

But still the dream plagues me, and I find my self wishing for someone other than the cat to reach out to. It seems like little coincidence that The Boy is so close to my mind. The child I once gave up because I could not bear his parentage. I could tell no one who his father truly was, for who would believe me anyway? Certainly no one on this side of death.

The Boy… I should find him, my boy who I gave away to those horrid Beakers so willingly. I should find him and tell him the truth before it is too late. I regret it now with all my heart and I wish that I had reached out to him while I had the chance. He is my son and my heir and when I am gone, he is all of me that will be left in this world.

I must find The Boy and beg his forgiveness before it is too late.

The previous text was an excerpt from the diary of Olive Specter, deceased, of Strangetown, and was found in her home shortly following the report of her death.