Episode Details

She actually reaked of death— the putrid smell of something rotting filled the room any time she occupied it — the tepid springtime air an unwelcome match for the unglorified and shabby surroundings that the hotel offered—but at least it was something. I knew that she couldn't be trusted almost immediately— that her “nice” was too nice and that the falsities of her supposed kindness alluded to something greater; she had been for the most part almost heroic in her gestures—offering some of the comforts I craved, but without any of felt affection; she was increasingly suspicious, from the moment I began my short-lived stay with her—I immediately thought her to be some kind of narc, and probably was; the psychological torture I was used to was so familiar, that in fact, it seemed programmed—indeed it was, and the more they wanted to know—whoever “they” was, about my energy and supernatural abilities—the less they would.

But, here I was—again, up against another demon, this time in nearly the exact same fight; disgusted by a sleepless night full of haunting moaning, jerking, and teeth grinding, I promptly got up to count the night's takings and clean my half of the room, in shambles after the rush of the weekly having-to-do, plus some extra endeavors which may have turned out more remarkably than planned—then again, I knew something magical would always happen when I recorded—or was being recorded, which was this very morning the case; my roommate had just earlier produced a tape recorder and actually asked if she could record me talking about what would happen at night—grinding her teeth, moaning, and thrashing about—and emitting a horrible smell: the putrid and nausiating smell of death, which was at times strong enough to actually force bile up and out of my stomach and into my mouth, almost vomiting just from the smell alone; I had always been a peaceful sleeper, with a strong stomach albeit—but this smell was disgustingly bizzare, and it had become stronger and stronger from the day I had started my stay in this room, 637, opposite the room that I had occupied previously— though not much had changed— there seemed indeed to be a demon following me, and it seemed to have something to do with my past life— a life I was remarkably happy to leave and finally been done with, and had even recently admitted i would most probably remain single for the rest of my life, if lived long at all— of course, the grinding and gnashing of the teeth was haunting, but paired with the smell and utter unsettling aura of this nasty woman l, I had felt it more than nessesary to protect myself, using magic or otherwise—prayer alone seemed not to be cutting it, as I begged and pleaded God to keep me from this harm—but it seemed the harm intended was against God itself, and with every fibre of my being I kept as quietly as I could, remaining as calm as possible—and remembered that for every bit of hurt and surffering I saw, that my attacker would see worse. I had never wished death on someone so—than again, death would be an absolute relief from any of it, or at least from what I understood; and with such, it seemed like I was on the other side of it, at least for the most part, and though I even rather believed it myself that I would never truly love again or was loved, i knew that mostly somewhere to be untrue— perhaps my worst fear, and just as expected—the most insulting thing she could possibly think of to say flew from her bitter, lopsided mouth, as I grasped at her recording device—just as I had grasped at the TV remote just weeks before—with an absolute iron grip, unwilling to let go from what I knew to be an absolute violation of the shelter's code: she pulled at my hair and yanked at my arm as I walked calmly into the hallway, with her around my arm screaming rabidly as the demon itself took over her small and quite fat little Asian body— and though she said herself to be Japanese, she could have been Chinese or from any