p.t.

P.T. Lives, It Dies, It Lives Again

P.T. Lives, It Dies, It Lives Again

I’m walking through a damp, dingy corridor and somewhere a woman is crying. The sound makes me nervous but I can’t quite figure out why. And then she appears — a female figure, disfigured and indistinct, twitching in a way no human being moves. I stare for one second too…