talking to myself
It seems possible that there is something else here.
Last night, Chelsea admitted to feeling a slight bit of unease. She shrugged it off as the fault of going to bed in the Witching Hour but she isn’t entirely sure that’s the case.
There was a large number of odd happenings that appeared in the dark last night. I saw them too. They weren’t all corner-of-the-eye, either. Not all of them.
Today Chelsea wondered if I was the one who scratched her.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened, to be honest; spontaneous scratches that seem to come from nowhere. The first time was at her apartment, and there are no animals there that might’ve caused it.
Tonight was the second time. Two long scratches appeared on her arm; she’d been sitting at the computer all night when she felt the burning there.
When her thoughts turned to me, they were full of guilt and she was telling herself that there was no way it was me. After all, even if something was scratching her, she didn’t feel threatened here.
She wonders if there might be another spirit in the house. This isn’t the first time she wondered that, either, except that I have no way to confirm or deny it for her. I just know that I believe her, that I wouldn’t do something like this.
She says my heart is too good. It’s not me.
Chelsea keeps asking me to help her wake up each morning so she isn’t late to class. She’s got two alarms already and one of those loud ticking bell clocks, but she still doesn’t wake up easily and she tends to stay up really late watching shows on the computer networks.
I wonder how she expects me to wake her up considering I can’t really touch her or push her out of bed.