My daughter has begun seeing things. I don’t know if they’re imaginary, like any child’s mind is prone to creating, or something more, like the things I’ve seen.
I never thought it would be like this.
Please, I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to tell my wife about this, but thanks to my history of practical jokes, she thinks I’m just kidding.
If it weren’t for Molly, I might not be here now to tell you about her, or about the night she woke me up with her banging on doors, more frantic than usual.
I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.
I woke up to screaming.