The Banshee Below Emerging from flooded basements, her hair floats as if underwater even on dry land. Her mouth is wide, too wide, jaw unhinged and full of black coral. Water pours from her eyes as she screams, a sound that breaks glass and memory. Her dress is made from soaked wallpaper, shredded and mold-eaten. Broken doll heads float around her in silence until she wails. She leaves puddles wherever she steps—within them, something looks back. Her scream doesn't just hurt your ears. It erases who you were. The Banshee Below sings to drown what’s left.

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