This time, when I heard the men talking, it brought a whole new feeling to me. I sat the laundry basket down on my bed and eased up against the wall, trying my best to hear them better. This time, I listened with anticipation and fear rather than my usual curiosity. This time, I listened with the thought of them being demons in mind. To my frustration, I couldn't even distinguish what language they were speaking in, let alone what they were talking about. And yet, I could feel that they were scheming. It was why I could never truly hear them. It was intentional. They didn't want for me to hear them. They didn't want me to know their plans. The voices, they were that of the stalkers I feared. It was the only thing that made sense. The stalker demons that plotted to make me feel crazy. They didn't need a reason. Demons never do. They only cause chaos. That was what they wanted for my life.

I didn't understand why it had to be happening to me. Why would they choose me to torment? Was I being punished by God? Was this supposed to be some kind of test? What would I need testing for? The strength of my faith? If I could protect my children? If that was the test, I would go to the ends of the Earth if I needed to in order to keep my babies safe.

"What are you doing, Mommy?" My son had snuck up on me. I jumped at his words and turned to greet him.

"Nothing, honey." I forced a smile at him. The last thing I ever wanted to explain to my children was that they could potentially be in danger from otherworldly monstrosities.

"You hear the monster in the walls?" He asked me.

My smile faded, "What?"

"The monster with the white face?" My son pointed upwards to the vent in the ceiling, "He watches through the vents."

My heart was in my throat. I was completely shocked by what he was saying. Was the demon already going after my children? Watching my children? "What do you mean?"

"I saw him in the vent over my bed." He explained, "He has no eyes."

I gulped hard before asking, "Does he... speak to you?"

"No." He shook his head, "He has no mouth either." Then he turned to walk away from me as if he didn't just say this horrifying thing to me. Like it was as casual as a fact as discussing that the sky is blue.

I looked up at the vent above my own head to see that nothing was there. No white faced demon. It was such a small vent that no one would be able to fit up there. Maybe it was just a nightmare he had had. Surely, he was confusing that with reality. Speaking of confusing reality, I needed to take my medication.

I went back into my bedroom and pulled the daily pill organizer from my drawer. I paused when I saw a single purple post-it note under the clear lid warning me to stop taking the pills. Exactly like the others. I popped open the container and pulled the note out. I looked at it for several minutes. Why couldn't I remember writing this? Why? But I must have written it. My exact handwriting. No one would have done this. I wasn't even sure I had done this. But who else could have?

My heartbeat was beginning to increase as I mulled it over. The pills weren't helping all that much anyway. What if they couldn't help? What if I was leaving myself these notes because I had already figured this out, but I knew I would forget? This time, I slipped the note back into the case, and I opted to finally listen. I put the case back into my drawer without taking the medication. Hopefully, I would remember this revelation and not take them tomorrow either.

That night, when my husband returned home from work, I decided to ask him about what my son had told me. "Has he ever mentioned a monster in the vents to you?"

"Oh, yeah." Frank nodded, "Some nightmare he had. Or some video he saw online, probably." He shrugged, "Nothing we should worry about. Kids imagine things all the time, Kim."

"You think so?" I was relieved to hear him say this.

"Definitely." He assured me, "Unless your crazy is rubbing off on him." He laughed to himself and nudged me playfully with his elbow. He meant it as a joke, but his words stung a little. To suggest my "condition" may have been hereditary and possibly affecting my son. I wanted to protect him, not pass anything negative onto him. That would have been a real fear of mine. If this wasn't merely postpartum and it was something more, would that mean my children were at risk of suffering with the same struggles? Were demons hereditary?

"Funny." I rolled my eyes.

That night, I had awful nightmares. A variety of horrible images plaguing my vision. My children being scared of everything, including being afraid of me. Then, I saw myself. The second version of myself. Face to face. Except this other version of me had twisted features. She pursued me viciously. What she would do if she managed to catch me, I didn't know. But I certainly didn't intend to find out. I ran from her until I woke up in a sweat. My heart was beating heavily against my chest. I sat up to breathe for a minute. I needed to catch my breath. It was as if I had actually been running. The physical strain on my body was intense.

To soothe my worry, I got up from the bed and checked all three of my children. Seeing all of them calmly sleeping made me feel slightly more at ease. I thought more about my nightmare. Along with another thought. Two of me. Were there actually two of me? This me, and the me that I couldn't remember? Was that what the voice meant? The voice of a possible demon? My mind was running so quickly that I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Instead, I started a pot of coffee.

I had plenty of time on my hands, so I decided to look into demons. Funny enough, as I researched demonic possession, it brought up a lot of sites for mental illness. I knew it. I knew I was onto something. They were linked somehow. This whole time, I had been going about this all wrong. I had been treating this like some sort of illness. I sought doctors and medications. This whole time, I should have been seeking God and spiritual cleansing. All the symptoms I had, I noticed, fit along with demonic possession. Or, at the very least, demonic harassment. I couldn't believe I had been so distracted before. Or confused. Because the reality was, I had already figured it out. That's why I kept leaving myself the notes to stop taking the pills! That must have been it.

I sipped my coffee and scrolled online, reading everything I came across until the sun leaked through the blinds. Truly, I would be tired for the day, but there wasn't much I could do about it. Not when all these thoughts kept me awake anyway.

My husband was the first to rise since he had to get ready for work. "You're up early." He said as he came to collect some coffee for himself.

"I couldn't sleep." I told him bluntly, "But I found out some interesting things." I turned my laptop towards him, "The sights and sounds that no one else registers?" I pointed to the text on the screen, "I found out that demons can cause these things, Frank. They can play with your mind in an attempt to drive you mad. Like that movie we watched. She wasn't crazy. She was possessed."

He didn't even look at my screen. Instead, he just stared at me, "So, you're not crazy. You're just possessed?"

"No." I said defensively, "Not possessed. I think. I mean, I don't know. I think I'm being haunted or harassed by something evil."

He laughed, his cup rocking along with him, threatening to drip onto his pajamas. He laughed for a few seconds before he noticed I wasn't laughing along with him. His tone turned sour, "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yes, Frank!" I turned my laptop back towards me, annoyed by his reaction. Why did I even think it was smart to tell him any of this? "Think about it. Everything that's happening to me. It's similar to that movie."

He wasn't hearing any of it, "That's just a movie, Kim. You can't be for real right now." When I didn't respond, he continued, "You're sleep deprived. You aren't making sense. Just get some sleep, and don't forget to take your medication."

My breath caught in my throat at his words. He was always telling me to take my medication. It was almost like he wanted me to get worse. Like he wanted me to stay in the same horrible cycle I was already in. Just so he could continue to call me crazy. I wasn't crazy. In fact, the only thing that was crazy was the concept of continuing on the same routine while expecting something to change. I knew I couldn't continue down that path. I needed to try something different if I had a chance of healing. It was also clear that if I was going to fix myself, it was something I would have to do on my own.