How have you been? I mean, I know how you've been, but are you dealing with it well? Sorry, I know losing people is hard. I know how you are, too. The need to find answers. You can't just let them be dead, you have to figure out why and you won't be ok until you do.

So I'm trying to explain to you. It was their own fault, you know. They never found their bodies, did they? Any of them? That was a red flag for you, I'm sure. That many people don't just "go missing". They brought it on themselves, though. You know how certain creatures can't enter a place uninvited? This works in a similar way.

It's certainly been windy lately, hasn't it?

I'm only telling you this because you've already failed. This information won't do you any good now, and I am truly sorry. I wanted someone to know, though, so you'll have to do. You can't do anything about it anymore.

You answered me. You shouldn't have done that.

Don't answer a voice calling your name unless you can see the body uttering the syllables. I thought this was common knowledge.

You haven't seen me yet. But I've been here, always, in the shadows, possessing the breeze, calling names... You'll see me soon. I'm sorry.

I can't help it. It's in my nature, an undeniable instinct. I must speak. I can't live without them. Their materials, their souls, I need them. They gave me permission. I didn't do anything by force. I promise.

I am dying.

I tried. So long, I tried. Tried to just be a shadow, a gentle breeze, not speaking a word. But it would have driven me insane. Starving.

So hungry.

I don't know what you'll see me as. Sometimes I glance in their mirror and my face is a wolf, sometimes a demon. I think I must take the form of their fear, what their minds think is killing them.

"Killing" is a harsh word. I don't like using it. I don't like doing it.

Well...maybe...I might.

Anyway, you don't have much longer. Tonight at the darkest hour, actually. You'll feel a breeze in your room, one you've never felt before. You'll see the slightest movement, out of the corner of your eye. You'll hear your name again, barely more than a whisper. You'll whisper your last words.

"Who's there?"

It's me.