Me.

I talked to my brother this morning, before he left for school. Showed him the paper, and asked him if it was some sort of joke. He got a look of total confusion on his face as he told me:

"You wrote that. Two nights ago. I walked by your room, and your door was open. You were scribbling away at that paper. I asked what you were doing, but you ignored me. Why? What's up?"

I got upset with him. Demanded that he tell me the truth. I even grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook slightly. Still, he insisted it was my own work. The fear in his eyes couldn't have lied. I let him go, and I haven't seen him since.

My mind is playing tricks on me. Terrible, terrible tricks. It's affecting how I act already. I'm blaming those I live with for what I'm doing to myself. I have to remember these are just dreams. These aren't real. There is no Slender Man. There is no SHE. They can't exist...

And yet I hear them singing when I sleep, "It's true, it's true, we don't exist..." Then why do I hear your voices?