I have a terrible feeling. No one here seems to be sane.

But after what I’ve seen here in this house, I am not surprised at all.

Rendezvous with the Cult of Resurrection.

What and who on God’s earth were they?

Mr. Kolth, are you really still carrying on with this charade?

He who sleeps, eventually must dream...

Poor little Matthew…Can you hear me? Did you like my drawings?

You always wanted to be a horror writer didn’t you?

You wanted to defy metaphysics didn’t you, Matthew?

I will shape your glum and sorrowful daily lives…

What is the point of a gun, if you can’t shoot in the monsters in your head?

Is the suffering in this house is bleeding through its walls?

I have to find a way to subdue the voices in my head.

The best days to live are still in the future.

Case of existence.

To live and to dream and hope and fear.

Statues of time that sit like philosophers.

Where am I, and is my mind stable?

It speaks to me; it whispers into my ear…

My eyes…my eyes are betraying me…I have to trust my inner sense more if I want to survive…