Demons and ghosts lurk in the darkness. So they say—you know, people who believe in such things or at least want others to believe in them. I’ve never seen them myself, but I believe it. Why not? Anyway, this phenomenon no longer frightens me as it once did when I was a child, for I too find my place in the dark. These figures creeping in the wee hours of the night or in shadowy corners or in dim-lit upstairs hallways are not menacing. They emerge from their Cimmerian gloom not to harm. No, we have enough to worry about among the living. I can identify with tortured entities sulking over paradise lost and apparitions desperate to unburden their souls. Life has lost a bit of meaning for me, though to be sure I find solace in family and friends and creative outlets such as writing and music. But I also find sanctuary in the darkness. Wraithlike, I lurk in the shadows, on the fringe, out of sight. Perhaps I’m cursed, perhaps it’s my choice.