She realized that she was waiting for something…perhaps for her brother to suddenly morph into some horrific predator, some nightmare that was going...to turn around and feed on her soul. ‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’ asked Angela, perhaps more to herself. ‘I mean…all of this…it’s so goddamn surreal. You’re my brother…but you’re not. These gray corridors, the blinking lights on the coffins…they belong in an old science fiction movie…right down to these pale, flashing hallway lights…maybe that. Nearly three weeks ago I had discovered that I could gain an unimpeded view into her room through the keyhole lock! Usually, I would only catch a glimpse of her as she walked from her bureau to the WC for her nightly bath, but that was always enough to help me get up a good head of steam. I would proceed straight to my bedroom and imagine the feel of her bosom as I stroked myself off. I had also discovered that Ms. Anderson only used one of the two large closets in her room. In the days leading. More

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