[written in Valerie's familiar cramped, hurried writing, margin to margin, no paragraph breaks]
The woods were dark and deep, and more miles across than she could count; the girl had run as far as she could, her bare feet bloodied and torn, bits of her hands scoured away from tree bark she'd used to catch herself when she stumbled. She was so tired, fatigue permeating every bone in her body, and yet she could hear Him on her heels, snuffling, tongue lashing the air to taste for her familiar presence.
Panting, tears in her eyes, she pressed herself against the bark to wait. Too exhausted to run anymore. If He wanted to kill her, let Him come and do it quick before her heart exploded in her chest.
"Valerie," a voice hissed insistently to her right, and the girl's head whipped, dark hair flying against tearstained cheeks. A man stood there in the shadows, his eyes insistent, his voice spurring her on. "Hurry!"
In his hands was a piece of chalk and a small green capsule.
"Take this," he urged, pressing the pill into her outstretched, scratched palm. He used the chalk to draw a door on the nearest tree trunk, then began to draw horizontal lines only a few inches apart through it.
"What're you doing?" she asked, swallowing the pill dry.
"You have always lived between the lines," he told her, twisting the doorknob he'd drawn. The tree trunk opened up. Inside there was darkness, laughter.
"Go now," he whispered, and touched her hand. He came through after her. She noticed that his socks did not match.
"Where are we?" she asked when they stopped falling, which felt like forever. The place was peaceful, quiet. Then she opened her eyes and saw framed photographs on the walls, the bookshelves.
"Oh, no. No, no, I can't be here," she whispered, backing up a step, fear seizing into every fiber of her being. "No, no, this is wrong, this isn't happening!"
"Valerie," he said, his hand touching her shoulder. "It's alright."
"No, you don't understand, He's here, the Beast is here, He was born here!" she said hysterically, hands pressing to her mouth, backing away from the walls with short, panicked steps. The edges of her vision began to black, to swell and pulse like living things. Even her eyes were traitors.
"Valerie, you're safe here. I won't let you be hurt," he said steadily. His eyes were very kind and warm and it was so easy to believe him.
"Why are we here?" she sobbed, looking at the peeling wallpaper, the framed award certificates.
"Valerie," the man above them said forbiddingly, his voice echoing down the corridors of a thousand broken hearts and minds. "What are you doing there? You know you aren't allowed on the stairs!"
"No," she whispered, paling.
The doctor's fingers tightened on her shoulder and for the first time, he too looked afraid and unsure.
"Valerie!" the man roared. "Are you listening to me? You're a very, very bad girl!" Fingers closed around her wrist, pulled her from the doctor's grasp with a hard, decisive yank. She felt him try to grab for her and catch nothing but air as she was hauled upward, toward the study.
"You've been a very naughty little girl," the man said angrily, letting go of her once her bare wounded feet were on plush cream-colored carpet. "You ran away again. Do you know how worried I've been?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered, closing her eyes. When she opened them, he was taller than before--- no, she was smaller. She was six years old, with pigtails and wide brown eyes. Then she was ten years old, with scabbed knees and secrets. Then she was standing with a bloody letter opener in her hand and more blood trickling down the inside of her thighs beneath the short blue dress she wore. He stared up at her from the floor, carmine bubbling from between his lips.
"...bad... girl..." he rasped. "...get you... punish..."
The walls roared, and the house trembled. Her belly cramped and she buckled, collapsing to the floor, his scarlet blanket streaking her legs and the dress he liked so much to see her in.
"Valerie," the doctor said softly at her shoulder. She looked up. His hand was held out, slow.
She moved and put the letter opener in it, the blade first, relinquishing it to his care. She knew it wasn't human blood on the blade.
"It's alright now," he whispered against her hair, holding her. "It's alright. It's over. He won't come for you again."
"He'll always come for me," she said back, the ache between her thighs throbbing in agreement.
"No, look," he whispered, and from his vest pocket he pulled a handful of sand.
"Watch," he said, and sprinkled it over her father.
"Daddy," she whispered as the man on the carpet crumbled to ash.
"He can't hurt you anymore," the doctor promised. "Open your eyes and you'll see."
Valerie stepped off the staircase. She tumbled through the air in silence, and what hit the ground below was not a girl but a stack of pages that fluttered gently down like the snow she hated so much. They landed in disarray, a blanket of syntax and diction to tell her life.
The walls were quiet. The Beast was slain and only the doctor was there to read the ending.