I have begun to hear something screaming at night. I don't know if others are listening or can hear it even, but I'm not going to say a word. It started a week ago, hours after he left, and it sounded like some girl child. She had probably gotten lost. Probably been mauled when I remember the hoarse yelling. The screams came in regular intervals. The beats were predictable. The terror was portioned out in chilling and orderly servings. My eyes remained closed, and I stayed inside, in my bed, quite certain that it was just an animal I heard. A possum perhaps, but certainly something wretched and nocturnal. Something motherless. Ugly. White-furred.

In the morning, the man asks me if I want some coffee. Would I care for some milk. At night the screams wake me once more. As they do the night next, and the next.

Kyla Cheung is a student at Columbia University. She works in languages, prose, and code, and aspires to be the text big thing.