The voice in your head insists your roommate is evil and must be destroyed
| "Kill him," I heard whispered inside my head. "It would be so easy," this whisper insisted. "Just reach under your pillow, get your .380, and take care of business. He sleeps like the dead, anyway. He'll never hear you coming."
This voice had begun to speak into my mind during my waking hours, and in my dreams; which is where it had originally emerged; it dominated the stage. I had no idea where this "person" had come from, all I knew was that it would not leave me alone. Not even the childish gesture of plugging my ears would block out the sound, because the voice came from within.
"Kill him," the voice continued, "before he kills you."
The "him" that the voice referred to was my roommate, Josh. It insisted that Josh was evil, that he had been possessed during his trip to Africa, and claimed that the spirit, which had inhabited my life long friend, wanted to destroy everyone that mattered to him. "The spirit's name is Bujune," this voice whispered to me, "and he brings only sorrow and troubles, which are the very definition of his name."
After a full week of the dreams, I had started to take sleeping pills in order to try to sedate the workings of my mind enough to quiet the voice. When that didn't work, I had tried staying awake as long as I could, afraid to go to sleep and wake my own daemon. For, that was what I was beginning to believe the voice was. Perhaps Josh had not been the one possessed. Perhaps I was the one that had been taken over by Bujune, and this was his way of trying to destroy everyone that mattered to me, beginning with my best friend.
After three days of staying awake, I could barely hold my head up. I cried from exhaustion, and begged God to give me some relief. The whisper chose this time to speak up, for the first time, in my waking mind. "God cannot help you," it laughed. "Only destroying Bujune's host will bring you peace."
That laughing, taunting, whisper was the last straw. I couldn't take it any more.
I drove to the liquor store, bought a gallon of whisky, and headed to the drug store next. At the drug store, I purchased five bottles of over the counter sleeping pills; the strongest I could find; and added them to the bag. From there, I drove down to the riverfront. I was going to sit there, down every single pill with the whisky, and then walk into the water. Perhaps, then, the voice would go away.
Sitting in my car, I turned on the radio to a little light jazz. I cracked open the bottle and took a shot to steel my nerves. I then opened the first bottle of pills. They went down easy, only taking a couple of drinks to swallow the handful of little tablets, so I opened the next. By the time I got to the third pill bottle, I decided to just drink for a few sips and take the time for a little self pity. Thus, crying my way to the halfway point of the gallon, I started to doze off in my seat. Then, suddenly, I was jerked awake by a knock on the door.
"Wake up, sleepy head," Josh called. "You're going to be late for class!"
I sat up, drenched in sweat, to find myself in my own bed, at home, with my alarm clock sounding off from where it fell to the floor. Light jazz music was coming from its speakers.
It had only been a dream.