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I read the note again, over and over. I’m not crazy. The letter is real.

The harsh glow of moonlight only just makes the words more visible. I have

to hold the thick brown parchment with both hands to stop it from curling

back together. Each swirl of black ink is another coil that winds tighter

around my stomach. The letters taper at each end, as if it was written with a

fountain pen.

He was here again. He was watching me sleep.

I wrote the note in my sleep, I tell myself, just like Dr. Mallory told me to.

It doesn’t matter how many times I say it or scream it into my pillow or write

it down, I don’t believe my own words. The letters are real. I know they are,

even though no one else believes me.

I told Dr. Mallory about the man who visited me on the day of the accident,

face hidden under the shadows of his hood. Then the gifts started appearing.Then the letters. Then came the symbols. All from him. The Faceless Man.

I tried showing Dr. Mallory that the letters are real, that I’m not hallucinating

like she claims. In fact, I tried to prove to everyone that someone was

watching me and leaving me letters. No one believed me—they think it’s just

the ramblings of a woman gone mad. I’d take pictures of the letters, only for

them to disappear from my phone. Every time I put the letters in my bag, they

become lost to the void, only to appear back in my bedroom with a note that

says:

It’s our little secret.

I’m not crazy. I’m not.

The gifts he leaves are real. So are the symbols he draws on my body. I know

they are.

“You bought yourself flowers, Lili, you just forgot about it,” Dr. Mallory said,

even though I’ve never been fond of flowers. When I told her about the

symbols, she explained, “You must have been sleepwalking and drew them on

yourself.”

I thought she was right, because the man never visited when I stayed with

Evan, either at his place or mine. I used to wake up in the morning or in the

dead of the night with Evan by my side, and my body would be free from the

marks the Faceless Man would leave. There would be no letters left on my

pillow or on my bedside table. No flower atop my chest or my dresser. I’d be

free from the nightmares of the Faceless Man, if only for a night. Although,

I’m not sure if he is a nightmare or the sweetest of dreams.

Evan was my shield against the Faceless Man.Until my stalker stopped caring about Evan’s presence.

Evan’s snore is the only sound to be heard in the small space of my room. It’s

too early for the dog upstairs to start barking or for the kids downstairs to

start watching their shows before school. All the neighbors say that, at night,

I’m the only sound in the complex, wailing or whimpering when the night

terrors hit. Evan says I don’t always have nightmares; sometimes I just talk in

my sleep, but I don’t always remember what the dreams are about. The only

dreams I do remember are of the accident, and that’s when the screaming stars.

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That’s why Evan prefers that we live separately, because he needs to ‘stay

sharp’ for his job. He says he can’t do that if I wake him from his sleep with

my ‘ramblings.’

When I lay next to Evan once a week, I try not to sleep, worried I’ll wake

him. I try so hard to stay awake, I swear I do. But Dr. Mallory’s medication

always puts me to sleep, even for just a few hours.

Inching the blankets down my bare legs, I creep across the room, not daring

to look down at my body until the wooden panels beneath my feet turn to

cold tile and the dull luminescent light of the bathroom glares down on me.

Slowly, my eyes drop from my disheveled dark brown hair, down to the

symbol painted on my chest and the black hand prints around my ample

thighs, not hidden under my singlet and shorts. I can’t see the twenty-

centimeter scar along my stomach, or any of the other scars covering my

body from the accident, but I know they're there.

I bite my tongue to stifle a sob and tear my gaze away from the mirror.

Unfurling my fingers from around the note, I see the letter under the dull light

and foolishly hope no words will look back at me. But as always, the cursive

words taunt me: You look beautiful when you sleep.

I’m not sure which is more foolish: The fact that I’m hoping I’ll find the

words missing, or the fact that I hope the letters never stop.

Squeezing my eyes shut. I reach for a washcloth, not waiting for the water to

warm before soaking the black fabric. I drop the letter on the vanity and

distract myself with my own reflection. I can’t help but touch the marks he

left behind on my thighs. The mark left behind is far larger than my own

hands, which is just more proof that I’m not crazy. I’ve stopped trying to

convince people I’m not insane, but it’s vindicating to have physical proof.

Used to cleaning the charcoal marks from my skin, I’m back in my room

before much time passes and sliding open the drawer holding almost

everything the Faceless Man has ever given me. The letter lands on top of

one of the shoe boxes filled with the hundreds of notes he’s left me. It’s next

to the pile of black bird feathers and the skulls of various animals.

I can’t bring myself to throw any of them away, as some kind of tangible

proof that I have not lost all of my sanity. Well, at least I tell myself that’s the

real reason why.

I’ve given up collecting the flowers he leaves me as they rot in a manner of

days. All except one. My attention darts to the stemless lily sitting in the

corner of the drawer, still full of life even after a year and a half of living in

the cold prison of a wooden drawer. It’s a coffin, just with less space.

With a shaky breath, I push the drawer full of the Faceless Man’s gifts back

into the darkness and slip between the cold sheets to lie next to a man who

doesn’t know those letters are the only reason I’m alive.

I wish I had died that day.

My mind darkens into nothing but white noise as the clock ticks by. Minute

after minute. Hour after hour. It all passes in a blink while I’m safe in the

comfort of my own mind. Until eventually, the clock beeps.

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I died that day, but my body lived on. I can stare into space for hours,

watching shadows stretch across a room and shrink back into the corner,

without a thought in my mind or an emotion stirring in my chest. Sometimes

I don’t know if it’s better to feel nothing at all or everything.

Time keeps ticking until I find another brown parchment in my hand. They

make me feel like I have a heart, whether they make it flutter or thunder, I

feel alive.

I wonder what you taste like, my dark storm.

Your whimpers are like a symphony of angels. What will your

screams sound like?

Lilith, my night monster, my perfect other, soon, you will be

all mine.

“Turn that thing off,” Evan groans.

I blink, finally registering that the alarm has been blaring for over a minute

already. Hitting the ‘end’ button, I mutter, “Sorry.”

“It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache.”

I swallow, and wait for the bed to dip and hear the shower start before pulling

myself from the pillow to stare at the teddy bear sitting on top of my drawers.

Its beady black eyes are trained on me as I pull out my phone and rewind

through the nanny cam recording.

As always, the screen flickers, hours of recording disappearing along with

any trace of what might have happened: whether the Faceless Man came intomy room or if I really did walk the halls and leave myself notes, blissfully

ignorant to reality.

The shower stops and the telltale sign of the curtains being drawn pulls me

from my phone. I don’t know why I bother checking anymore. I never find

anything.

As soon as I step into the bathroom, I grit my teeth and glare at the puddle of

water saturating my socks. “Can you please use the bath mat,” I call out to

Evan, knowing he can hear me past the ticking of the gas stove turning on.

An exacerbated sigh comes from the kitchen. “Jesus, Lili. It’s too early in the

morning for you to start an argument. It was obviously an accident.”

I bite my tongue and swallow whatever retort would have never made it past

my lips, and step into the shower only to wince when nothing but cold

streams out. After four years, I know better than to say something back, even

though he never used to be like this.

I close my eyes and let the cold bite my skin. At least it makes me feel

something, even for just a little while. Evan stuck by me after the accident

and stayed when I made claims about seeing the Faceless Man.

He didn’t need to stay around or stand by me, but he did. I’m not sure how

much longer I can keep holding my breath around him. I just know that I

can’t bring myself to say the words that would tear us apart.

“Soon, my love.” The baritone whisper chills me more than the water. I snap

my eyes open and suck in a sharp breath from the dark shape just beyond the

curtain.

He’s here. The Faceless Man is here.

Gripping the plastic material, I yank it back expecting to see Evan or the

Faceless Man. Instead, I’m greeted by my empty bathroom and the puddles

of water on the tile floor.