The God of the Almighty Dollar demands blood sacrifices. 

The haunting was all in her head, all in her head, she thought, but what was that sound—scraping, something trying to make its way out, scraping—coming from under the bed? 

 The door between the two worlds swung wide that night. 

 Sylvia prayed she was possessed because she couldn't face the proposition that she was just a terrible person. 

Dead tired and forlorn, they dragged themselves towards what they hoped was a new homeland (but turned out to be another cage). 

 Chaos was the only goal. 

Why trust your senses when it's so much easier to believe their lies?