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There are people in my house, and they won’t go away. I can’t see them, but I can hear them walking around while I’m trying to sleep. Sometimes I run out to confront them but they scatter off, their footsteps pounding across the floor. I yell and I plead at them through the walls to be quiet, but they just wail back in return.

They’re the worst thing to happen to me since my death.

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