I didn't kill anyone. I didn't kill my mother! A True Horror Story.

This night, like every night, I resist going to sleep to avoid meeting my nightmares. While the laughter coming from the television in the living room hits the walls of my room, I try to lie in my bed, huddled like a baby in the womb, feeling restless as if my sheets were full of thorns, but it doesn't do me any good. Because no matter how hard I try to silence the voice in my head, it insists on speaking. Even if I cover my ears with my hands, it doesn't help. This rough and deep voice, which constantly whispers that I am dead, has been whispering louder and louder since a time I don't remember how long ago, as if it was trying to make itself heard by everyone around me. I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I'm terrified that the owner of the voice will come out from somewhere inside me and hug my throat.

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