8

Other than the computer, there's not much to do here. I contacted some online friends and asked if they remembered me. The ones who didn't know my real name or what I look like do, but the ones who know me as a real person and not just a random entity online can't remember me. I'm not surprised.

Anita has a doll with her. It's a handmade doll made by her grandmother. It's limp and faded and rather creepy. While she plays with the doll's hair, I find myself messing with hers. She's got pretty black hair put in dreadlocks. Sometimes I put it up with ribbons she had when she was brought here.

She still doesn't say much but she's taken to me like a little sister. Not hard to imagine since it's only us in this room. At night she clings to me. If I accidentally let go of her, she starts to cry. It's because of the nightmares. They have to do with what that demon showed her.

I've got to find a way out of here. Not just for me but for the sake of Anita. I don't know how much of this her little heart can take.