Jimmy sat on the floor, in the corner of his room. He was crying and shaking as he recounted the vision he'd seen.

"It wasn't real," he told himself in a shaky voice. "It wasn't real. You're not a murderer. It wasn't real."

He stared at his feet as he heard the words echoing in his head.

"Please, Jimmy! Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to kill me?"

The words terrified him. He looked at his hands. They were clean, but his mind could see the blood still on his hands. He could see himself still covered in the blood. He couldn't get the images out of his head. He knew it wasn't real, but it felt real. The spirit reached for the bottle on the floor and began to drink it, hoping it would help him get the images out of his head.