This torn page that you have found, isn't torn by chance or fault. I tore it on purpose. I tore it and threw it away because I am sure of what my family members would make of it if they read what follows. They would think that I am now completely mad, that I've finally lost it. It is easy to assume so, to think "She never made any sense. It's all in her head".

Maybe it's true. Maybe the fear that i feel and live with is entirely my imagination. I say maybe because I am convinced it's not my imagination, but that's not how the world works. It is supposed to work on logic and reasoning, so if tomorrow your 16 year old daughter says she is being stalked by a paranormal entity, you don't just blindly believe it. You ask for logic, you ask for reasons and if you cant find any, you make your own.

"There is nothing there, it's just a closet. You must be dreaming. Ghosts usually come to places where something bad has happened. It's the silhouette or the moonlight or the open window". I've heard them all in the last 2 years and tried my best to accept them. But then when my heartbeat get back to normal, when my mind start accepting logic, I see IT. And it begins, all over again.

IT because it's definitely not a him or her, I don't think it has a gender, it just has those dead hallowed eyes. 2 years ago was the first time when I saw those eyes, staring at me from the corner of my room. Never speaking, never moving, situated at the corner of my bedroom they seemed fixed like two 0-watts bulbs in the darkness. Turn on the lights and nothing is there other than the closet

Somehow after a point of time, I started ignoring IT and instead focussed on hugging my elder sister as tight as I could. A few days later there were no eyes staring at me anymore. A week later, I saw them again. But this time they didn't remain stationary. They moved around a small circumference, as if someone was swaying their head while gazing at me.

A few days later they started following me. Wherever I went, if i could see a patch of darkness around, the eyes would be embedded in that patch. I stopped venturing out of bedroom and just the thought of dimly lit places started giving me anxiety. But it didn't stop there, after a few months I started seeing it again. Not just the eyes, but an outline, a form of some human shape with two dead eyes. This was also the time when my health started deteriorating and I would shriek at mere thought of being in darkness. My sister decided to leave the room to me, thinking I needed space. I needed her, IT needs me.

Slowly it started following me. In the night, on my way to fridge it would stand in the corner and watch. When I wake from the a bad dream, it would stand and watch. When my phone light switched off, in the screen it would stare and watch. Sometimes from the darkness, sometimes within my closet and sometime standing behind those conversing with me. If you are reading this and imagining me talking, then I see it standing right behind you.

Its been 2 years, I am now tired and weak. IT has been with me for 2 years, not harming me nor scaring me, just staring. I today look like a ghostly version of myself, but I wouldn't know for sure as I don't look into the mirror anymore. What I do know, is I have served IT's purpose.

I know this because I write this last page in absolute darkness, except for a bleak phone-light with a dying 5% battery. All the lights have malfunctioned leaving me in total darkness. My voice seems to have abandoned me, my vision is blurry and I am alone. Even IT isn't there.

But IT hasn't left, I can hear IT. Outside with my family who are celebrating the return of their daughter from a grave mental illness. 'Must have been a miracle' they say as they adore and shower attention on IT.

So as I tear this Last Page and throw it out of the window.... I go and stand in the darkness, in the corner, in front of the closet... staring at IT.

(Translated by @seethingsage from a torn page from someone's diary found lying somewhere.)

Creativity takes patience, imagination takes time
'Under construction' are stories in our mind