Simply having someone in the same room as I have dissipated all the paranoia that had begun mounting before. Some of them snored. Some tossed. Anna still had work to do, analyzing some of the books they were about to hand over, but I fell asleep in minutes, way before I even knew it.

  On the flip side, I was yet again a spectator to a disturbing vision. My host was running through dense, snow-powdered woods. It felt like they were on all fours. Gentle snowflakes brushed across my view. The one thing I don’t hear enough people talk about enough is the smell of cold. In a secluded wilderness, where nothing could possibly be alive enough to produce something else, there’s this crispy, almost hotdogs-in-a-campfire smell.

  Their movements seemed labored. They kept bucking like they weren’t meant to be moving the kind of way they were. Plus, their breathing did not match up with their rhythm, making it sound like they kept gasping for air. And then they spat a small bit of blood on the ground. Something isn’t right.

  They ran deeper into the woods as if it physically became darker. I had to strain my eyes to make out any details, where it looked like there were hundreds of monsters dancing in the periphery. It was hard to tell, but my host was still on a path. It was mostly a dirt path, although there were mounds of snow here and there. They passed by gates, small signs, even tripped on discarded trash.

  I heard a voice rush by like it was the wind. Like the wind, its shrill voice cut through my ears and made me lose my train of thought for a moment. Obviously, it was a one-way conversation. It felt like a command, or a promise, or a warning backed by a guarantee. My host stumbled for a moment, face plunged into a pile of snow. Emerging from it, I saw a bit more blood.

  My host kept going. There were a few paths it could take, but some sort of force kept my host frantically moving. No time to think, no time to decide on options. From what I could notice, they kept taking paths that went to lower and lower ground. The only colors I could see were blues, browns, and yellows. Tripped again. Interestingly, they tried to muffle the sound of their pain.

  Being hit by another round of indecipherable threats, my host tried howling to ignore the sound. A little bit was audible, to me, at least. It seemed to affect them, too, as they began running even more weirdly. They nearly ran into a tree.

  As they dove deeper into the woods, snow on the ground became abundant. They slowed to a crawl at a certain point. They landed into another snow pile, dug themselves out, and I saw something as they shook it all off. There was a cabin.

  My host ignored it and kept going. The image was burnt into my head, though. It was a source of light inside an almost pitch-black landscape. It didn’t look inviting, though- there were blinds and shutters like every ray of light was being hoarded. There were tons of little trinkets and baubles outside of it lying around. I couldn’t even catch a good description of what collection I saw, as if they were intangible shapes.

  How did they get to this point? Was there ever a line they crossed or a point of no return? Did they know they’d be diving headfirst into a horror that…I can only assume is transforming them?

  Some sort of force and the sound of a rolling disaster to accompany it had started to catch up. My host was being scraped, cut, lacerated with seemingly invisible hands. Sage and vanilla oozed out instead of blood. One lash scraped across one of my host’s feet, sprouting flowers, making them lose balance entirely. They bashed their limb against a rock, hoping to mold their foot back into what they were used to before the shape became permanent. It was unnatural.

  They didn’t have enough time, leaving with a wilted, bruised mush and a gash that had rotten colors coming out of it. It looked like their escape was cut short, though. A lake appeared sooner than they could slow down for and nearly slid in.

  It was still as if everything around it were dead. My host had accidentally stepped on a frozen, croaked bird, confirming my observations. The lake wasn’t frozen, not even having ice along its edges. There was a bit of sand, mud, and dirt immediately surrounding the lake, with snow-covered hills all around. There appeared to be only one entrance- my host fell into a trap. Maybe I was mistaken; there might’ve been one more that I missed, with what dense forest there was.

  My host turned around. It cowered, but audibly bore fangs. Beyond its teeth chattering and its growling, it dared not make a sound. There wasn’t anything there at first. Trees began to change into poisonously vibrant colors, twisting into uncomfortably noodle-like shapes. Grass wriggled, branches writhed. Their fears presented themselves in the flesh. Oh, it was obvious. They were running from a-

  “You will be reduced to a helpless animal, made for my entertainment. You will cease to think. You will cease to act. You will no longer have any goals or ambitions, only pathetic desires. To say everything you do will be humiliating once my curse is in effect is an understatement. You will be writhing in pain without any salvation. You will have a new body. You will have a new mind. There is no book of life for you once I’m done with you. We will be bound by my will, and whatever is left of you will be obliterated once I cease to exist,” declared the witch.

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  Oh. That was a little overly emotional. Beyond just spitting caustic anger, it felt like those words held a force behind them. Like they were radioactive, actively splitting apart the body and soul of my host.

  As that mutt made one last desperation circling the lake, it was shot. I was taken out of my host’s perspective at that point. It was so dark that I could make out a silhouette of it, but it certainly looked like the shape of a big dog that didn’t have a lot of hair. The sound rang in my ears for minutes. Nothing moved, but I felt like I wasn’t watching a still frame. It’s just that the scene ended.

  I was skeptical at first, but my suspicions grew stronger every time I was afflicted by it. I wanted to deny it, as everything I’ve been told has been contrary to my instincts. I can’t tell what weighs more- what I’m being told is a sin or what my instincts say will destroy my soul. They’re all in on it, too, so I’ve never been able to have a candid interaction about it. It’s not like I’m being faced with doubt; I mean, they literally shut off when I bring it up. Often, I don’t have the words to describe what’s happening to me.

  This chase has gone on forever. I knew this place wasn’t good for me. It’s not cruel, uninviting, hateful, or anything they would normally say. Rather, it’s just bad for me. I try to be reassured- accepting it all will lead me to restoration; negative thoughts lead me down destruction instead of bringing my cancer to light.

  I feel like I can only call it a curse. I’m told that afflictions are a way to bring out virtue, but the timing always seems suspicious. I’m always struck in ways that don't lead to virtue. Every setback just leads me to less virtue. I’m not saying I’m concerned about whether or not it hurts. I don’t care if something hurts. I care if it’s taking away parts of me.

  I’ve been transforming into something horrible. It’s a mirror image of me, but the exact opposite. It’s a beast that seeks to spread its self-loathing chaos. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m becoming a beacon of it twisting reality.

  With any curse, you’d think it’d take a princess’s kiss to break the spell. I don’t know if it will work this time. I don’t know if it’ll leave the princess in one shape. I don’t know if there even is a princess this time around.

  That mutt I had fixed my sight upon began shuddering after having bled out. It shook and looked as if it was about to run at me.

  Without much force, I woke up. Morning sunlight poured in. I noticed Rebecca had made it back to us, seemingly unharmed. I took a minute to process what I witnessed. As I held my head in my hands, I thought to myself- ‘Dreams are hallucinations. They don’t represent anything.’

  I initiated the interaction after having a few minutes to sort out reality within myself. Rebecca didn’t try to ask what was wrong or swarm me with questions, especially since I didn’t feel like I had an emotion towards it anyway. I was hollow; there was nothing to explain; anything more would’ve been frustrating.

  She was probably more tired than I was. Bothering her might not be the best move, but I asked anyway. I received a very clear OK to chat. We caught up on what happened after we split. Apparently, her escape route caught on fire, so ‘X’ group took our Metro back. It took a few hours, but hey, what can you do…she was fine after being given space while on the ride, nothing particularly eventful. She nearly got bit a lot more than me, based on how many times she counted.

  I exchanged my side, just giving simple, digestible details. She digested what I said pretty easily, though, asking topical questions, interrupting me when I needed help thinking of a word, or following the rhythm of my humor, explanation, and pausing styles. I began to go in more depth. It felt easy. Internally, more details were pulled out from my brain. Externally, being able to speak at my natural flow caused me to stutter less and say more within less time, articulating in a language I understood.

  Yet again, I was outside the walls of my brain. The gate had been let open. Although what was inside was indecipherable, disgusting, and alien, I had the right assistance transporting it outside my inner castle. I off-handedly mentioned the joke. She messes around with me. I tease a little bit of it. She pays full attention, but her gestures happen to align with the tempo of retelling it. I speak faster, but I don’t trip over my words. She keeps matching my tempo. Faster. Matches. Faster. Matches. It was like she lit the fire to fuel my coal. Eventually, I get to where I was cut off before.

  “The conductor survives. Comes out fine, as if nothing even entered him. ‘What happened?’ the prison warden thought out loud. Everyone was flabbergasted. Shaking his head the entire time, the prison warden carefully approached this conductor, seemingly impervious to the electric chair. He pats the conductor on the back. Scratches his head, saying, ‘Well, I guess there’s nothing we can do. You’re free to go. I just have one question for you. What is in those red bananas that makes you immune to this stuff?” I make a dramatic pause. Internally, I wanted to sob.

  “Oh, they’re just my favorite meal. It has nothing to do with the bananas. In reality-” I was interrupted.

  I thought to myself, every time I’ve tried interacting with these people, it's been a trainwreck. I can't catch a break, I never feel free. I try and try to be a conduit for whatever is on their mind and nothing happens. There's no spark. They just worry about expectations. They're never in the moment. Short to ground. It just kills the mood, and in the end I feel like,

  “He was a bad conductor!” exclaimed Rebecca.

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