But today the dead stopped staying dead, and the demons returned. Somebody began working alongside me at the Kangaroo Hotel, an Australian born twenty-three-year-old. He is most probably the Devil; perhaps the very thing that the Nichiren were trying to warn me about. He makes me question the very meaning of life and whatever is left of me now. Nothing, nothing but the burning suffering that I am fated to endure. And just like Laplace’s Demon, the boy knows all of my dreams and all of my secrets. He makes passing comments from his pretentious childish self of my thoughts; thoughts that he could not possibly know. He is somebody beyond life, perhaps even beyond death. He frightens me. Frightens me by his very presence. Just knowing that I am in the same building as him, working in the same place as him, the Kangaroo Hotel, it chills my bones. This man, this boy, he has an arcane ability to know my deepest feelings, and my wildest fantasies, to the point that just hearing him speak, just imagining words from his lips is enough to make my skin crawl off.
