The Chipmunk comes as a theif in the night.
At first, you hear the rustling of bags, and of papers.
You blame it on your own mental illness.
This comforts you, to sleep at night, knowing in the safety of your own craziness you are special, and although you are alone, you are held in the embrace of despair. You may rest.
The rustiling continues, but comforted in the warm embrace of your hopeless insanity, you rest.
Then you discover a cat. A cat beneath your house. You blame the rustling on the cat. You are not delusional anymore. Though the sounds come from upstairs you blame it on sound scattering, and it is really the cat underneath.
The Chipmunk is like a shadow government. Slowly gaining power, and more power.
One day your illusions are shattered. You see the movement of a bag.
Surely you are insane. The shadow power cannot be real.
Your delusions are shattered. You cannot blame the cat anymore. There are shadow entitites, in your home, on the first floor.
Every movement, every stir, is potentially near you, startling you with its demonic essence. You are unable to rest.
You slowly try to reach for the light. But it is too clever. It hides in the shadows. Its power and speed knows no bounds. It is always one step ahead.
But through the will and power of man, you finally capture it in the light.
The demon reveals it’s true form, it is a chipmunk.
Due to your own madness your house is in disarray. Searching through it is like a black abyss, draining your very soul. You cannot even find a flashlight. A room is quarantined in your house. Maybe it came from there. You despair. The chipmunk owns you, and you are its subservient slave. You shall never find the hole in which it entered you, and though you may capture it you pray that it chooses not to enter again. The lesson here is damnation and despair.