"…Nightmare…vivid life-like…terrifying dream…and commonly the dreamer is attacked…chased by the dark, by the unknown … the subconscious mind…a dark room where images are projected …of death, of real life…reflecting, without knowing…anger…lust…jealousy…hatred…even desire…the conscious mind believes in it… the subconscious mind knows the event before it takes place …the episode is common in children…following traumatic events…such as… death."

Two eyes, two bright yellow eyes. She's transfixed by their gaze, held in their grip, even as her lifeless body crumples to the floor of the toilet cubicle, her eyes glazing over as she sinks into darkness.

Darkness that swirls around her, a whirlpool of silent noise, dark light, dragging her down into nothingness. Two glowing golden points of light, receding ever further into the distance. A voice, hissing in some strange language…hissing…the hissing swells around her, growing louder, louder, unbearably loud. She clasps her hands over her ears, but it doesn't stop the noise, and she realizes that she can't feel her ears, though she was sure her hands were over them.

She hangs in the dark void, writhing in the body she is no longer sure exists. The light hurts her eyes, and yet it is dark. The noise rings in her ears, and yet all is silent.

Her whole being writhes in pain, and yet she can't feel any part of it in particular. There is no definition to the feeling…it is as if all she is is the pain.

Where am I?

…A dark swirling noplace of screaming soundless emptiness…

What happened to me?

…Eyes, glowing eyes, a hissing voice, then this…this oblivion eternity infinity everywhere nowhere nightmare world of pain swirling around her …

Nightmare.

Voices rise around her, taunting, laughing, vicious. Each word cuts her like a knife, and she's flooded by a tide of them, rising around her. Voices fill her ears, screaming at her, slicing at her soul, tearing at her ears as they rise in volume and intensity, whipping up a storm of vicious laughs and taunts.

…Four-eyes …Ugly cow…Pathetic little moaning Mudblood Myrtle…

She huddles in a foetal ball, hiding from the words that burrow like maggots into her consciousness, gnawing at her brain. Insubstantial eyes brimming with tears, a soundless scream rips from non-existent lips.

Faces begin to rise around her, looking down at her like hyenas converging on a dying antelope, whispering, whispering. Looks of contempt, hatred on every face. They swirl around her, shimmering across her vision.

She tries to escape, but escape from what? She is nothing, floating in emptiness, there's nowhere to run from her demons.

Olive Hornby, sleek blonde hair swinging, a sadistic smile on her face, stares down at her, laughing at her fear…

Cold eyes, hard, sneering mouths, faces she knows, faces she barely recognizes, in an endless, relentless, dizzying rush…

Tall, handsome Tom Riddle, a sneer crossing his face as he looks down at her, pathetic little ugly Myrtle, cowering away from him, falling back into the nothingness…

Down, down, through the endless darkness, voices still whispering in her ears. Faces swim and swirl around her in an endless, dizzying stream. Beautiful people, laughing at her as she falls, spinning endlessly into the void…

Olive, rising again in her vision…

"You'll never get away from us, Myrtle…Death doesn't stop the pain. Not for you, anyway. It rids us of the pain of having to look at you, having to endure your snivelling, snot-nosed, pimpled face every time we look at you."

Myrtle sobs soundlessly. She tries to twist away from the hard-eyed, sneering vision of her tormentor, but the vision follows her.

"We'll always be here, Myrtle…you can't escape…eternity, Myrtle. Eternity, here, in the dark, trapped with the voices in your head. Moan all you like, Myrtle, it won't make any difference."

No.

Soundlessly, voiceless, she protests. This can't be it. This never-ending nightmare. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. Let me just wake up…

Olive laughs, and the myriad swirling faces behind her laugh too. "This is it, Myrtle. This is all there is. And you can't wake up. You're dead, Myrtle. There's no waking up. You're here forever. With us."

A blinding light swells up out of the darkness, and Myrtle screws up her eyes against the brightness.

Eyes? I have eyes again?

She opens them, blinking stupidly as she looks around. Dark blurs are all she sees, and she gropes blindly, feeling stone under her fingers. She's crouched on a stone floor, blurry figures standing around her, laughing. A sharp cruel voice reaches her ears. "Looking for these, Myrtle?" Olive. Myrtle grabs for her glasses, but the taller girl twitches them out of reach. Myrtle stumbles, and the crowd gathered around laughs cruelly. Tears rise up, blurring her vision even further. "Aaaawww…does the ickle baby want her glassy-wassies?" Olive's hard voice rings out, and the laughter rings in Myrtle's ears as the darkness rises again…

And lifts, on a new scene…

Herself, sobbing in a toilet cubicle…in her bed…in the back of a classroom…

Running out of the Great Hall, followed by laughs and sneering looks, tears running down her face…

Olive, waving a wand, jinxes flying towards Myrtle as she cowers in a corner. "Come on, Myrtle. Call yourself a witch? Can't you even stop a few hexes? I know five-year-olds that could do better!" She raises her wand, groping for the counter-jinx, only to have it dashed out of her hand…"Never mind, Myrtle. A few boils won't make that much difference to your ugly face anyway," Olive sneers, as a jet of light slams into Myrtle's face, knocking her back against the wall, helpless…

"I can make you remember, Myrtle" the voice rings in her head. "I can make you live it all again…every tear, every insult, every little blow to your puny, pathetic little soul. Forever. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

Forever. Eternity. Trapped here, in the dark, tormented by reruns of a life of tears and pain and torment.

Forever. No escape. Trapped in this nightmare.

Despair. Myrtle gives up fighting, gives up everything. What's the use of continuing, if all there is for her is an eternity of sorrow? But where else can she go, trapped as she is in this never-ending nightmare, this hellish afterlife?

What did I do to deserve this hell, this nightmare? I thought things couldn't get any worse. I wanted to die; all I lacked was the courage. I thought death would set me free. Stupid.

Myrtle sinks into the black pit of despair. There's nothing she can do anymore, there's no point fighting. Oblivion, perhaps, awaits her somewhere. Perhaps, somewhere, there's peace…

The nightmare begins to fade, Olive's face receding away from her. Myrtle feels herself dissolving away into death, peace, and forgetfulness.

Let it all go. Drift away from life, from all its cruelties. Forget myself, as they'll forget me. They'll forget me. Who'd want to remember Myrtle? I was just an amusement to them, anyway.

That bitter thought stops her in her tracks. Accept this oblivion? Fade into nothing? Be forgotten? No! She's always wanted to get them back, hasn't she? Always dreamt of making them sorry. Should she just disappear, let them move on, forget her? Never suffer for the pain they've caused her?

No! I want to hurt them! I want to make them sorry!

"What can you do to us, Myrtle?" Olive's mocking voice rings in her ears. "You're dead. And good riddance. What can you do to us now?"

Olive Hornby. Pretty, popular, perfect Olive Hornby. Oh, how Myrtle wants to hurt her, make her sorry.

What can I do? I can make your life a misery, Olive Hornby. I may be dead, but I'm not gone! Not forgotten! I'll haunt you, Olive Hornby! I'll make you sorry!

Myrtle no longer wants to fade away, to die. Her grim determination brushes away the forces pulling her down into that final rest, and with a strength born of her anger; she pushes back up towards life.

The darkness begins to fade. She hears voices, but not the insults and jeers from before. "Myrtle?" A bored voice, and one she knows well. "Are you sulking in here again, Myrtle?" The toilet cubicle swims into view around Myrtle. "Professor Dippet sent me…He said to come and look for you…" Myrtle looks down at herself, her transparent body as fat and ugly as it was in life, her solid mortal form lying abandoned on the floor at her feet. An evil smile slides across Myrtle's face. If she could pick anyone to find her corpse, this is who it would be. Her revenge has already begun. And it feels good.

"Myrtle?"

The door swings open. A blonde head is stuck around it. "Are you in there, Myrtle?"

Oh, yes, I'm in here.

Olive Hornby looks down at the floor, and screams.

And Myrtle smiles.