Shrill shrieks. A baby. A man is grumbling for the noise to stop. My vision is blurred. I feel trapped. I can’t move. Can’t talk. A tall figure in a white coat passes the foot of the bed, no it’s a crib. My crib. The man walks back past me, this time carrying a pillow. He leaves my vision. The screeching baby cries are suddenly muffled but increase in their terror. The man grunts, and the screams wobble. The baby loses its cry. I want to scream and sob, but I don’t dare.

I’m spiraling out of my own head. The room twirls, nausea creeps in, but it has nowhere to go. I want to cough, but I’m not breathing. My chest is burning, but my heart is cold.

I snap back, and the metallic stench of old iron invades my senses. I’m freezing. I start to sniffle and cry, but it doesn’t sound like me. I’m low, and I teeter as I try to walk. The leaves on the trees are golden, purple, dying. I stumble but catch myself before my head hits the ground. My wrists are wrinkled, fingers tiny. And there’s blood all over my hands. I push my body up and fallen leaves adhere toto my sticky palms. I slap my little hands together and wipe them on my overalls. The denim is soaked through. I don’t hurt, but I’m scared. A woman’s voice cries out close to me and boots squelching through the muddy forest floor. She’s calling out, but I don’t understand the words. Then I’m snatched from my feet and spun around midair. Tears overtake my vision. I can’t see who I’m with, but she’s clutching me to her shoulder and running hard. As I gather my breath, a snarl rips through the forest. It’s something angry. Something big. And I know it’s chasing me.

My vision narrows as I fall through the back of my own head. The iron stench is gone. The nausea creeps away.

I’m back in my childhood bed. My Kirtland bed. The comforting scent of cedar fills the room from the exposed cross beams of the farmhouse roof. The straw in my mattress pokes my back, and I’m lying awake, staring at the rafters. Moonlight trickles through the single pane, bathing the room in pale silver. A shadow slips in front of the moonlight, dipping my bedroom in complete darkness for only a second. A rattle at the window startles me, and I slip my head beneath my quilt. My head aches with lack of sleep and the nocturnal tricks my mind plays. I shiver under the covers, willing my imagination to shut down so I can have some peace. Then a moan like an angry cat falls from above. I risk a peek. A small creature with a swollen head dangles from one of the beams. I hold my breath. There’s no way this is real, but my mind has never done this to me before. The creature clicks its teeth, and I scream out for Mother.

I’m tumbling, sliding backward like water sluicing through a sieve. The headache gone.

I’m now strolling through aforest. It’s the one from before, but all is calm. The air is warm and the trees are lush. My body is my own. I’m a child no longer. My steps propel me over a short rise and down to a small stream. The water tinkling over the stones the only sound. The woods across the stream sing to me their siren call. Mother has always forbidden me from crossing the stream, but today I am emboldened. I place a booted foot into the stream, and a bolt of shock shoots through my chest. I need to make a choice, to cross or to stay. I take another step, and I collapse to my hands and knees in the water as pain surges through me. My hands clutch at the silt as I claw my way to the other side. I reach solid ground, heave myself out of the water and roll onto my back. I struggle to breathe as I stare at beams of sunlight shafting their way through the dense canopy. I focus on the tinkling of the water trickling by my feet.

Sharp claws gash into my chest, digging between my ribs. The hands grip my breastbone and tear until I hear the cracking of bone. Thin, sinewed arms rip my sternum away from my body and blood sprays my face. A silhouette with demonic eyes splitting the blackness of its face looms in close. The scent of iron overwhelms. I see my heart jumping, quivering in place. The shadow tosses my bones aside before thrusting its jaws deep into my chest, biting a chunk out of my heart. A jagged grin opens and speaks, but there’s no sound. I desperately need to know what it’s saying, but I’m fading -- my life draining out.

The beast jerks what remains of my heart from my body with both hands and squeezes.

The forest disappears.