I did not expect to get a lot of sleep my first night in the Crazy House, as I called it.

And I didn't.

For starters, the "bed" was more of a nest of straw, which was scratchy and made me sneeze. For another thing, even though the Voices in my head had quieted down and were no longer putting violent and/or rape-y thoughts in my head, there was always the risk that they could well come back.

Obviously Abby considered my condition to be unstable and potentially dangerous, and I couldn't argue with that. I still couldn't convince myself that waking up with no memory while wearing bones wasn't a clear sign that I was a serial killer, especially after what the Voices had said involving murder.

I took the skull off my head and stared hard at the blasted thing. The main "victims" that I could remember the Voices citing were Abby, who was very much alive despite having her tail on fire, and some guy named Bill, who apparently was something called a Sylveon.

Abby was nice enough, but obviously not dead.

Bill, on the other hand... didn't sound like the kind of person I'd ever want to meet. Too... carnivorous. I privately hoped that the Voices were correct in their assessment of his death and that the bones were his.

Although... in fairness, maybe the Voices were wrong about Bill. Not necessarily about his death (though that was definitely possible), but maybe about Bill himself. Considering the process by which they'd decided my gender, it seemed almost as if they just grabbed any idea they wanted and ran with it.

And a gender check was easy enough, right? I was alone, the Voices were quiet, and the house didn't seem haunted. So I decided I might as well contemplate whatever was south of my navel.

. . .

. . .

One self-patdown later, I came to the very disturbing conclusion that I was correct in rejecting Abby's sleepover offer.

As much as I disliked the idea of it, I knew I'd have to warn her in the morning. I'd probably wind up chained to the bed, except that the bed was a pile of straw and you can't really chain anything to a haystack.

Aaaaaand that thought came entirely out of left field and clearly should have stayed there. I freely admitted to myself that I was fatigued, not thinking clearly, and should get some sleep. I set the skull down by the pile of straw, fluffed up a mock pillow of hay, and closed my eyes.

DANCE RIOT

As I said, I didn't get much sleep at all.