She drove all night, heading north, to the border and forests and the dark, dark nights.
My Bloody Valentine played on and endless loop, cocooning her in sound, the AC blasting; she was cold and calm.
She hoped in those ancient forests, in those long and dark nights, no demons would find her again.
Pulled over, parked at a closed gas station, she felt eyes upon her, did not know if they were friend or foe.
She kept looking up at the sky, to make sure a third of the stars had not been swept away.
On a Thursday, at the first rising light, she came to the little cabin, the place to hide.
Sleep through the day, for the sun is your enemy, even if the monsters come out in the dark.
It was her, and the typewriter, and all the shapes she put on the page, to purge the demon venom in her blood.
Creation the spell she could cast, the magic that was hers, the protection from the demons hunting her.