There are things that go bump in the night. They don’t live under our beds or in our closets. They live inside of us — some of us, anyways. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s only because you can’t see them… The Takers; but I can.
They came on an oppressively hot summer night when the power had failed and we were all distracted by our griping. They took some of us that night. Nested, consumed, altered.
I’m telling you this so that you understand what I’m about to do. I don’t want to kill you. I have to.
© Shyla Fairfax-Owen