My wife screams in terror all night long. I visit the cemetery and beg her to stop, but her morbid fear of me continues.

My sister says that mummy killed her. Mummy says that I don’t have a sister.

"It's OK now."

He hugged me and I felt the blade slide between my ribs.

For hours her screams permeated through the wall. When she went silent I knew she was dead, and it was my turn.  

I stared at my hamburger in horror.

"I told you, I'd introduce you to Sarah," he smiled, "Isn't she well-done?

He lifted my veil, and I ignored the small shudder that racked my body as he leaned in to kiss me.

Pastor Mark's voice boomed ominously, "I now pronounce you husband and wife!"

Blood is forming puddles on the forest floor from the decapitated bodies, which hang by a thick steel wire bound around their feet and tied to the limbs of the trees above. I must press on and face my fears, for ahead lies my only escape from my own madness. 

I'm not scared of the edge; not the edge of the blade, the edge of the building or the edge of sanity. It's all the things that push me to the edge, that frighten me.

There is nothing to fear behind you. But do not look in the mirror.