He was there again.

Maybe I should ask him to start helping with the rent.

If he’s gonna live in the walls, he could at least contribute to their upkeep.

I’ve come to accept him now, as another gloomy, reclusive roommate, a stark difference from the sheer terror and panic he first induced in me months ago, pinning me to my bed in a state of sleep paralysis.

I briefly considered employing some kind of priest or medium to help expel him, but their online reviews were all less than satisfactory. I gave up on the hope of assistance.

He’s certainly still trying his best to appear menacing, popping out at random intervals, looming in the corners when I’m sleeping. But honestly, I’m quite enjoying the company – London is a lonely place, after all.

I wonder if he bumped into Dante on his way up?

I wonder if he was sent as some punishment, and if so, for what and for whom?

What did we do to deserve this?

Is he just as trapped as I am?

I’ve come to converse with the being; he has yet to return the sentiment, but I can sense that it wants to say something, despite the lack of a mouth. 

He has tried a few times to scrawl a bloody message on the bathroom tiles, but it’s always just a smudgy mess.

He has become my closest confidant, always listening carefully, and always watching over me. I share my deepest and darkest embarrassments with him.

I bought an old Ouija board at the local charity shop, hoping we could have some less one-sided conversations. Repeatedly he moves the planchette to “H,E,L” but then quickly retreats into the walls.

Sometimes I see him, in my peripherals and the reflections on shop windows whilst I am out working. So he’s not bound to the house, to what then, is he bound?

I wouldn’t dare ask him to take his leave, out of fear of hurting his feelings and losing such a dear friend.

I have come to terms with the situation. Whether he was sent as punishment or as a gift, I am grateful either way for his presence. Demons were indeed once Angels, after all.

I hope he feels the same way about me.

By Taylor Jay Hayes

Poetic Catharsis.

Scary as it may be to bare my soul to the world through my poetry, it is most cathartic and genuinely helps me to understand my emotions more deeply. Quite often I’ll have an overwhelming cocktail of feelings that once put to paper, are much simpler and easier to categorise, and therefore deal with in a healthy way.