Every night, it was the same. The same background. Same foreground. Same voices. Same half-formed creatures whispering in her ear. The same mantra, thousands of times, from a thousand mouths.
“Let us in, let us out. Let us in, let us out. Let us in, let us out.”
Naomi refused, every time. At every request one of the monsters made, she would reply with silence. Some got clever, or at least tried to be, showing her childish visions of empires and kingdoms to call her own, like she still held the infantile fantasy of princesshood close to her heart. Some got violent, almost lashing out at her with pseudopods that flickered between existence and ethereality. They never actually struck her. Something held them back mere inches from her face. Most just kept to discordant, chaotic chanting.
Thirty-five years of this had jaded Naomi, to say the least. Maybe when she was ten, the creatures had a chance. Instead of silence, she would flee, hot tears streaming down her face and barely formed words pouring from her mouth. But those things did not pursue her then. They only did when she was old enough to control herself and her psionics.
They only wanted her when she became useful…