Rose, a young woman who sits on her bed wrapped in a sheet, tells us in Bogle of her experiences with a creature who has always been there, a shape changer, who, in her dream, raped her in a bog, and, in another dream, licked cream from her breasts.  When she woke up she found it was the cat.  She tells us not to laugh, that she is not trying to be funny, and asks why she has milk in her breasts.  She says the creature is always out there, watching her, waiting to play tricks.  It is a “horrible thing, impossibly old,” but sometimes it appears as a young man who wants to touch her, and sometimes at night it sobs like a child begging to be let in.  She warns us to keep windows closed at night because we can’t let anything in, ever, because every intimacy is a violation.  She repeats, “Don’t touch me,” and then says, “Listen,” before the light fades out.

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