20180518

Day 1,348

There's a room in Granny's house where a demon lives, or so the story normally goes. The grandchild will go into it unthinkingly and either be saved by Granny's sixth sense for endangered children or they are never seen or heard from again.

This is not one of those stories.


His name was Nathan, you couldn't ask for a more kind and thoughtful child. The thing that's been wearing his skin since he came back from summer camp won't tell us its name so we still call it Nathan, much as we'd rather just crack its skull open and see if that will let our little boy out again.

Paul and I took him in when our daughter could no longer stand those empty eyes, that smile that never sat right on his young face or the way he dissected every helpless creature he could get his hands on. She thought he was being difficult about their divorce but Paul already had his suspicions, for all the good they did him.

We gave him free run of the attic rather than let him run rampant about the woods and cause the same chaos (or worse than) he did back with his mum. Ever since then the house hasn't felt right, something changed when he first closed that door and it doesn't want to leave.

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