There's a girl inside of my house.

She pops up in weird, crazy places... in my bathtub, in my bed, in my sink, in my dresser even. She just stares at me as if she is angry, observational and analytical, like she's ready to murder somebody. She never speaks a word (I often wonder if she even thinks), but you know she's always somewhere... walking by, when you catch her somewhere a little girl shouldn't be. I don't think she ever blinks.

Of course, she can't be a real little girl. She's never there when I hop on a phone call with this girl that I like, she never eats or sleep that I ever witness, and she doesn't reply when I talk to her. She's not a ghost though, she's solid, she's real. She's a physical being, exactly like a little girl if I were to describe her but there's something disorienting that I can't put my tongue on which makes her different. It's a feeling in my chest I get when I look at her, I suppose. Perhaps, she's something underworld-ish, some abstract creation that was a flaw in the Devil's eyes. I can never be sure of what or who she is, just that she is.

She's just a creepy little girl inside my house.