Miss Chagrin’s home for wayward children.

~I was admitted here only a few weeks ago. Miss Chagrin’s home for wayward children. The title could be improved. The attendance could do some work too.

I woke up with little to no memory of my life. I mean, I remember classes. I know the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. I remember rhetorical writing. If I try hard enough, I can even remember the name of my old school.

But I can’t even know my own name.

I walked to the cafeteria, my hope quickly dwindling. I didn’t think I’d find someone; I just wanted to find something.

And now, I have you. 

Dr. Susannah. It’s a name I haven’t heard before, but it’s a name I’m glad to accept. Maybe we could be the only two people left. Maybe we are

I don’t know why I know only your name, your address. Maybe if you sent a letter back, you could tell me. Your card stuck out of my pocket, crisp and clean. I can’t remember you giving me one, but I can’t remember much else. I found a single piece of paper on a table. Maybe I can write to you each day it appears.

I’ll stay here, waiting for your response.

~Today, I explored the rest of the building. I will say I’m dismayed that I haven’t seen a response from you yet, but that’s only natural. You could live on the other side of the world, and I wouldn’t even know. Maybe you haven’t even received it yet. Or maybe my letter fell out of the truck. Whatever the reason, I’m prepared to believe you. I’m in a good mood anyway.

While exploring the remainder of the building, I stumbled across a lounge. The door was locked, but I was able to smash it open. Even with my limited memory, I don’t remember being this strong. I guess it’s just one of those things where anxiety wins out.

It was as if I walked into a new world; plush couches, TVs, batteries, real food. I can’t even describe the euphoria I felt when I saw the radio. I think music was a big part of my life. Or maybe I’m just happy to hear someone else's voice.

Once again, I am patient to read your words.

~Do you ever think houses can be haunted? A glimmer of a memory came back today. I remember Halloween as a kid, where we balanced across the line of true horror and simple fun.

I can see ghosts. The covers aren’t enough to block them out anymore. I don’t really notice them in the day, but they swarm at night. I think I’ve had enough terror for now.

I’m sorry that this letter is short; They try to stop me every time I write to you. It’s as if they don’t want me to have any contact with the outside world.

An explanation would suffice.

~I think you know something you’re not telling me. I want to know.

Listen.

~Don’t listen to that last letter! It came from a bad place. I feel bad about wasting paper. But why aren’t you responding? I could die here. It’s not even a horrible fact. I’m not scared, only aware of the fact. No matter how much I eat, the food won’t run out.

Speaking of that, what’s with my appetite? When memory serves trustful, I can willingly answer that I don’t eat much? So what’s with food now? It’s not even good.

Answers. I need them, or I shall drive myself mad. I bide my time, but that isn’t nearly enough. The gaps between each letter grow like a chasm. I worry I may not write to you many more times.

~There is now profound evidence of human life. The food that I have consumed for the last month is nearly always cold. Today, there was a platter waiting for me on the cafeteria table, warm chicken and clean ice water.

My trap went off as well. Did you really think I hadn’t made the necessary precautions? No, I have completely wired the place off with traps. I feel as if my mind has surpassed all notions before. My sat score comes up from time to time; 1580. That’s high, isn’t it?

Where are the other ‘wayward children’? I want a new friend. You’re too bland. You don’t respond.

I hate you. Did you know that? I don’t even know your last name. But something makes me hate you.

Hate.

~I have since given up on your response. I don’t expect you to write back. I will still write these letters, as I am afraid that my brain will dull down. What type of brute have I become? Just yesterday, I felt a rush like I hadn’t before; when the food disappeared, I flipped over the table effortlessly. It took 5 more tables for me to even notice. Yet my brain doesn’t seem to slow down during these episodes; instead, it feels as if I grow more analytical by the second.

What is wrong with me? When I try to think of the average human, this doesn’t come up. My brawn matches something from an animal. My brain could go up against a mastermind’s.

I’m a liar. I think I lie to myself to feel better. It was ten tables. Are you satisfied? I’m a monster. I’m truly a beast.

The spirits continue to haunt me, but they seem to be put off by my presence. I rarely see them during the sunlight hours at all. Yet they continue to taunt me. I hear their voices clearly now. They blame me. For what? I don’t even know their names.

The library revealed itself to me a few weeks back. Maybe I should check it out now. I now know my brain isn’t getting weak.

It’s growing out of me. What can I do except fall into its control?

~The literature here brings me home. Books, I feel, were always my specialty. I get absorbed to the point that the demons don’t even harm me. Did I forget to mention? Pardon the intrusion; I seem to be holding my tongue ever since I encountered this new information. 

I believe I am trapped in the shell of a psychiatric ward, one that has been overrun with demons. The monsters can’t be held to anything different. They attempted to drag me down with them, kill me.

I know this new information, but what does it mean? Why am I here? Hell, why are they here? It’s as puzzling as it is useless. For now, at least. Maybe I shall find out something more. That is my hope, at least. I think I have made leaps and bounds toward figuring out the secrets behind my being trapped here. A bigger force is at play here. I must be important to their scheme.

My trust is growing thin. I can barely even trust my own thoughts.

Keep that in mind.

~Half animal. That’s how I feel now. The physical transformation has been going on this entire time. While I may have noticed it before, I can’t pass it off now.

Claws embroider my hand now. Muscles sprawl like hills through the arms that used to be nearly useless. My mind only grows. Into what, I do not know. Both transformations are far from being finished. I only know that I embody a predator.

In fact, I think I am a predator for the demons themselves. I do not dare to eat them; that would only prove foolish. My stomach is not created to consume them.

Not yet, at least.

~You made a mistake, didn’t you? Only yesterday, I found evidence of another human here. I always knew the demons weren’t the ones trying to push me in the correct direction, and it seems as if my suspicions proved correct.

Don’t even try to pretend. Don’t weasel out of this. If you did, I’d have to kill you. I have come to realize that I am not a normal beast; while my memories drift farther from me, I have come to the conclusion that I will soon be able to fly. My wings are much too small to pick me, up, but we will have to wait and see. Without hollow bones, I won’t be able to fly, but I appreciate the wings anyhow.

Let’s move back on track. You thought that the paper could blend in with the snow, didn’t you? Too bad the ‘blinding white’ promise printed on the paper doesn’t prove correct.

I found each letter i have sent you in the offices upstairs. It’s funny that I only just found the key on the wall, hanging on its hook, taunting me.

That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You think I am a beast. You think I cannot deduce such a simple answer on my own.

Well, I will only hope you are wrong.

Why are my letters upstairs? Granted, I do not know where I am. Perhaps the address I am printing is where I have been situated for the past months. My habitat.

I can barely dare to make the trip out to the mailbox each day, so I will leave my letters here. Along with my wings came something along the lines of a muzzle. Each day, I feel less human.

I will hunt you down. And I will force you to change me back. I don’t know why I am here but mark my words.

You never should have made me a predator.

It’s your turn.

~I have scoured your offices for more clues, yet you seem to have hidden them well. I congratulate you. I must admit that I have done it; I ate my first demon.

With my new beastly stature, it felt almost welcoming. I will try not to continue this nasty habit, but you gave me no other choice. I have noticed the shrinking number of food coming in. No matter; I am burning through the supply of clothes I stole from each of the apartments. I even wear girl’s clothing. Anything that I can fit on my beastly form.

Alas, our game may end soon. I hear creaking each night. My ears may be shrinking to accommodate my monstrous self, but they grow stronger each day. You will not be able to escape me for long.

Best wishes. I hope to discover something new each day.

~The transformation has slowed down now that winter has come again. Even my mood swings are pausing. Perhaps it is a sign? I have been in this building for nearly a year, scanning tomes and computers for answers. My claws make this quite a challenge, but it is no matter.

I found the password to the archives.

What were you lot thinking? There was a mass killing at this school. And I am the sole survivor of this massacre, aren’t I?

Nothing lists the truth of the student’s fates, but I have an idea. This institution used to house kids who were deemed ‘special’ by teachers, parents, and more often than not, therapists. This building housed the future of the criminally insane, ones who could be matched to villains. We were supposed to be condemned until normal, where we could use our genius for good.

All of us died. Why do you think so? Of course, you probably know the real reason. Maybe that’s a trait we’ll soon share.

~I have been studying demonology since our last letter. I think I have found out my new species.

I am a Chalkydri. A spirit that seems to be part dragon, part bird, and part lion. Close to a griffin, or a Pheonix. Now, here's a question: Why? As the transformation continues, I find my reading skills to be dwindling. In fact, as I’m pushed down to the ground, my writing grows worse. My neck will soon match that of the beasts.

What did you do to me? I am fairly certain that my appearance did not match the Chalkydri’s before I came here. What are you really hiding?

~My revelation arrives at last. As I consume down each demon, my transformation continues. In fact, they are the ones pushing me toward each grotesque trait. They take away my human mind, leaving me with this beastly snarl. Actually, there’s one more thing I’m missing.

The demons are, in fact, ghosts. Well, they’re dead. My brain seems to be finally slowing, so I do apologize for the lack of wordplay.

You are a scientist here. You have a lab somewhere, a place where you continue to hide out. I will find it someday, but that’s for later. I was your first victim, one you tried to ‘upgrade’. Didn’t expect this, did you? Or maybe you did. None of that matters.

I went into a frenzy, murdering my fellow ‘classmates’. That was really your goal all this time. Only a select few patients were supposed to come back. We were supposed to kill the others to see who was the strongest. We would all become beasts, able to change back and forth at our own will. That wasn’t what happened.

I was chosen to inhabit this institution for many reasons. In fact, you were the one who chose me.

Dr. Susannah. You were my old therapist. When your methods continued to fail, you brought me here. You told my parents it was for my own good. I can’t even see their faces anymore.

All of the other patients became the demons I see today. They tried to rush my transformation as a form of punishment. Or was it to make me more powerful? When I look at the other evidence, I see more proof of the latter.

They tried to warn me of you. They knew it was dangerous for me to chase after you.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Checkmate.

~I am a monster. I crawl on all fours, my transformation complete. All memories I thought were coming back have been discarded. All I know now is my own animal instincts. In fact, I can’t even write this. Nor can I speak.

No. I think the murderous look in my eyes tells you enough.

This is my final letter.

Just as I hear your final words.