Warning Unimportant Authors Note! Feel free to skip!

A/N: Kami is here, after a floppin' long while. Well, here are some fun-facts about this story. A few days ago my Theater Teacher assigned us an essay (Really? We're not even learning playwriting yet) as punishment for talking in class, ergo the prompt "Why it is important to not talk in class". So I thought, "Flop it, I'm flipping writing a story about demons that steal your tongue." And that's how this story came to be :').

My first and hopefully last encounter with the Damanius was the age of eight. I wasn't quite a verbose third grader, but I had bright eyes and big dreams. Happy. Until the day, that day, the day I was cursed by silence.

My name is Siva, and I am twelve. My Damanius used to follow me. Watch me, control my every movement. I am Siva, the girl of the ghost, and I haven't spoken a word since October 25, 2008.

It all starts when the clock strikes exactly on your 1st birthday. Alive a full year, you're actually more vulnerable than any other time in your entire life. You may not know it, but once the minute hand passes, the Damanius latches onto your shadow. On everyone's shadow after that day, a ghost of a monster, the monster of silence, resides.

Damanius grows as you grow. The ghost learns, it sees what you see, it hears what you hear. Worse of all, it feeds. Communication, not hamburgers or banana splits, are the monster's choice of fuel. Even word you utter, even syllable you compose, every phonic you whisper, is stored. The ghost whispers things back to you, if you care to listen. Sometimes good things, with positive consequences. Sometimes evil things that tempt a person to commit horrible crimes. Prisons consist of people who listened to their Damanius too well, who couldn't sort out the proper thoughts.

Damanius is a liar. It whispers to you to gain your trust. To gain what matters most, your mind, your thoughts, or just… you. Never trust your shadow. Use the whispers to your advantage, but combine them with your own thoughts. Never let a Damanius control your complete thoughts. That, my friend, is what happened to me.

I was, like every other third grader at the time, unaware of the shadow that I possessed. The very shadow that caused me to be the way I am now. First it was a whisper, a quiet whisper. Telling me to… Everything, really. Eat, sleep, finish homework, watch television, laugh, or talk. Always, every single day, talk. Chatter, mumble, murmur, mutter, shout. The Damanius learns. The Damanius speaks.

When I first became "nervous" and refused to speak, people labeled me at "Selectively Mute". The speech pediatrician knew nothing of Damanius. He knew nothing of what was happening at all. Neither did I. Neither did I.

The other children, particularly the girls, made fun of my Damanius. Psycho Siva, my new name was created. The socially awkward girl who stuttered or occasionally didn't speak at all, that was Psycho Siva. I was just Siva. The girl with so many words, so many thoughts, who just didn't know how to say them.

It was somehow my fault when they hid icky stuff like chewed gum in my locker. It was somehow Psycho Siva's fault that I got picked on. Well, if Psycho Siva they wanted, Psycho Siva they got.

My "Selective Muteness" got worse as the years progressed. My Damanius decided to hold back my will to speak in more situations, not just public crowds or anxious places, but my safe, warm home.

I would not speak to my mother, eventually. Nor my father. No matter how much they begged, or pleaded, and no matter how much I wanted to, my lips refused to form even the simplest of sentences.

It was that day, the day of October 25, 2008, that Damanius took over.

No one has even seen Damanius and been able to tell anyone about it. I remember it like it was yesterday.

It felt as if my shadow had swept up my very being, and encircled my heart in ice. My face was emotionless, and I knew something was happening, something… significant, but… I didn't know what it was.

Damanius was satisfied. The ghost, the miserable creature that dwelled in the shadows, vanished. Leaving behind Psycho Siva, a shell of a girl, in its wake.

I still haven't spoken.

Not for four years.

I find it easier to use a pencil to express my thoughts. A piece of paper, crumbled up, hidden at the bottom of the classroom trashcan explains what I had for breakfast this morning, and my opinion for the toast. Compliments for my mother for putting the butter right in the middle because she knows I like it that way.

Maybe, one day, I will speak. Chatter, mumble, murmur, mutter, shout. Not today.

Maybe someday, Siva will be back.

This may or may not be expanded into a multi-chapter story, but you know how I am with updating so :/.