I can't go anywhere without my bag

It started off simple enough. I had gotten a bag from a thrift shop that I fell in love with, and I took it with me everywhere. Restaurant? Took it with me. Sleepover? Took it with me. Trip? Took it with me. I never went anywhere without it.

And of course, I had packed it with all the essentials for most situations. Surprise period? Got it covered. Dry hands? Got the lotion. There wasn't any event I wasn't prepared for.

Until last week, month 2 of owning the bag.

I had started hearing voices; I thought I was losing my mind. I didn't know where they were coming from.

I started seeing doctor after doctor, but every last one of them told me it was all in my imagination; that my awareness of the problem was too good for them to accurately diagnose me.

What they didn't know, was that I was hearing those voices at my appointments with the doctors-- the appointments that I took my bag to.

One thing to note: The voices never formed coherent sentences, just terrifying noises that kept me up at night. That's how it was for the first few days.

My mother and father had taken notice that my mental health was declining due to all of the madness in my life that went from 0 to 100 in a short period of time. They sent me to a therapist, who was very good, but didn't help at all.

Up until now, I thought the voices were just me hallucinating, but I found out the hard way where they were coming from.

I was making lunch a couple of days ago when I heard a scream. A loud, gut-wrenching scream. My heart dropped to my stomach.

Is there someone in my house? I should be all alone right now. Mom and Dad are at work. What the hell is going on?

Paralyzed with fear, I dropped down to the floor of the kitchen. Within a minute of sitting there, I decided to confront the intruder. I grabbed a knife and headed for the living room.

No one was there.

I went up to the bedrooms. No one was in my parents' room or my room. Only my bag was held in my chair.

Then, while I was staring at the bag, the voices started up again, this time forming sentences.

"You can't leave me alone. Don't make me do this."

I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my arm. When I lifted it to look at the source of the pain, I saw an enormous gash on my forearm. It dripped with blood, so much of it that I screamed and ran to get my first aid kit. I shouldn't have left the room where the bag was. I felt an even deeper pain in the same spot. More blood, enough to make me feel weak and lightheaded. It was then and there when I realized the source of this torture.

I heard more voices, but they were louder this time.

"I told you to not leave me alone. Get back here or I'll have to do something worse to the ones you love most."

I thought of my parents, my cousins, my best friends. I needed to get back to my room before something horrible happened to my closest friends and family members.

When I got to the room, the bag was still in that chair, but the chair had moved slightly. I knew that I had to do something to address this demon of some sort before anyone else got hurt.

I took the bag with me to the bathroom so I could clean my wound.

"Good, now you know never to do that again."

I thought to myself, "How the fuck is this bag talking to me, let alone hurting me? It has to have been cursed; I got it from a thrift shop after all. Maybe it belonged to a witch or something."

I decided I needed to get rid of that damn thing. I couldn't have it terrorizing me and my family forever.

Yesterday I had my mom drive me to a different thrift shop to give it away. My mom was of course confused as to why I wanted to get rid of the bag I loved so much, but I insisted on going. I hoped it wouldn't have been my problem anymore.

On our way home from the thrift shop, right after we had given the bag away, my mom suddenly felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She screamed and almost crashed the car. I knew right away that she had a gash on her stomach and that the bag was somehow attached to me now. I asked her to drive us back to the thrift shop, and my excuse was that we could maybe find a first aid kit there. She was confused out of her mind, but she agreed anyway.

When we got back to the thrift shop, I noticed that the bag was already on a shelf. I picked up a first aid kit and asked my mom if we could take the bag back as I had "changed my mind". She said yes and we paid for the two items and left.

The moment I got home and went to my room, all I heard was,

"Don't ever pull a stunt like that again. I don't want to have to show myself and ruin your day."