The dreams. The dreams that never stop. Swirling and spiraling out of pure fear. Somewhere along the way my mind has warped itself to the point of no return, but whatever caused it has been lost. For weeks I have been having these wicked dreams; dreams that showed me in many situations against a wall of black, physical mist. This mist and I spar with each other but it always ends with me on my back and the mist lurking above me just ready to plunge an icy dagger into my heart.

My parents are extremely concerned about my dreams. When they hear my shrieks of terror they stay with me until I fall back down on my bed. What they didn't tell me was that when they were at work they were covertly finding boarding homes for me. I found out when I was getting a glass of water that in the dining room they were speaking in terse whispers.

"Are you sure this is the right move for us?" My mom asks.

"Well what else are we supposed to do, Fran?! Sadie needs serious medical help and I will not stand by while my daughter is suffering!" By this part he had gone from a whisper to a near shout.

From where I was positioned by their doorway I could see mom silently sobbing into her hands and my dad had his arm around her shoulders. The sheets rustled and their breathing slowed. I just hope whatever they plan on sending me it isn't to another doctor because with all their credentials and degrees every single one that they have brought me to have said whatever was wrong with me was not something they could cure. Some even saying to my parents that they should prepare me for a possible death.

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A couple days have passed and they haven't taken me anywhere. One morning before dad went to work I asked him if they were going to get me into a treatment regiment. He merely shook his head and walked out the door to his black Buick. A soft click of the car door shutting and the hum of the engine was my signal that he wouldn't be back for a while. It was a Saturday and while I was watching The Ring there was a ring at the door. The man on the other side was a priest, his face the color of marble cracked only by his warm smile.

"Mom?" I shout. "There's a man here. He looks like a priest."

Mom ran to the door. She seemed to know about this meeting already and gestured him in. In one hand he carried a Bible and the other held a bottle of what I assumed is holy water. He whispered something to my mom then she handed me a drink. It tasted like punch but I started to feel drowsy and I collapsed.

When I woke up I was bond to a dining room chair, the man from earlier was changing something out of the Bible. My mom was crying somewhere behind him but by then I was simply filling up with anger. Unbridled anger that began thrashing and squirming against the restraints. Then I shrieked where the holy water hit me. Anguish and more fire like anger surfaced.

Then just as it started it stopped, but the man didn't. I didn't realize it at the time but he exorcised me. My parents say that I'm more like the kid I was before. I feel grateful for that mysterious man for helping me find the light.