1
Sunday morning. A day of worship and rest, but in my case it was a day of tension and unease. I awoke in my bedroom without having experienced a dream of that myth of a man, but I still felt troubled. On the nightstand sat the locket. My link to this strange nightmare my life had become. I sat up and clasped it in my hands. The gold glistened brightly in the early morning sun that cascaded through the windows. I had to admit the trinket was beautiful, just like the man who gave it to me.
I frowned. “He’s not a man, he’s a monster. . .” I muttered. He was the one who flustered me to distraction and who made me hide things from my best friends.
I clasped the locket in one hand and chucked it across the room. It should have collided with the wall, but about two yards from me it
