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My sister always loved the dark. As kids, she would beg to sleep in the basement, claiming it was cozier down there. Our parents eventually relented, and she would curl up in a little nest of blankets, a single light bulb illuminating her happy face. I would often wake in the night and find her standing at my bedroom window, watching me sleep. It gave me the creeps then, but I realize now she was just making sure I was safe. Now that we're adults, my sister still loves the dark. She's never married, never had any close friends. She just prefers her own company - and that of the darkness. I worry about her sometimes; she seems so lonely. But whenever I bring it up, she just laughs and says that the darkness is all she needs. I should have known something was wrong when she started asking to move back into the basement. But I didn't want to believe it - until I found her down there one night, hunched over a bleeding body with a glint of madness in her eye.