Vanish

No! NO! This can't be. Not now. Things are getting better, they cannot get worse. Images flash, scream, and tear at me. So many things now can go wrong, why this?
A little girl sits in the corner, a faded blue dress hanging wetly from her skin, her hair in strings of mud and water. Her skin is pale white and spotted, gray spots that seem from beyond the grave, Her arms are folded over her bent knees, her head resting on them. She is crying. I hear a music box playing in the distance. No, I think to myself, No, why do I have to be so messed up? Why can't I be sane? I feel like screaming as she lifts her head. Blood is dripping from her liquid-black eyes, like tears from some demonic child. Her mouth is sewn shut, and I now notice the bow in her hair. She tilts her head, as if to examine me, to ease her curiosity of some exotic animal. A scream escapes my lips and I hide myself away from this wretched thing pretending to be human.
When I look back she is gone.
...
A shadow, only a shadow, I try to calm my pounding heart. It is not a shadow, though. No, there isn't any mistaking it. This is a hand, coming out of a dark, billowing robe. It is old and claw-like with arthritis. The skin covering the decaying bones and muscle, the maze of vanes, is yellow and hanging, not seeming to be attached at all. Brown spots cover it. It reaches towards me, death swirling around it like the thickest shroud of mist. Goddess, I plead silently, squeezing my eyes shut, please, Goddess.
Then, it's gone.

They always vanish. I know they aren't real, so then why do I scream? I always scream, I'm always so afraid. What if they do hurt me, like they so openly threaten to? Some day, I swear on everything I have, I will make them stop, and I will be sane.
Because the always vanish.
Vanish like smoke.