Peter Parker is my best friend. Peter Parker is my worst enemy.
Peter Parker is both my best friend and my worst enemy. He is...Spider-man. And he killed my father.
Then kill him. You swore that you would.
Who is...? Shut up, Dad! You're dead!
He...it...doesn't answer.
Am I going crazy? I can't...
I'm sure everybody hears the voice of his dead father...
No...no...I'm not crazy, I'm not!
Are you so sure you're not, Harry? Bats in the belfry? Or...spiders...?
A drink, that's what I need; that'll help. It always helps.
Does it?
Doesn't it?
The brandy burns all the way down, blazing into my empty stomach like hell itself. Feels good, feels like I'm alive; it's the only thing that does feel good right now.
It always shuts him up.
I hope...I hope it always does.
But what if his voice gets so loud one day that I can't drown it out?
A thrill of fear shoots into my throat, chilling the burn left by the liquor.
Why do I think of these things? And it's always the worst things too, like any good thoughts I might have are being cut off at the source.
...family curse, Harry...
I pour myself another drink. I'll shut him up.
I haven't been sleeping lately. It's too hard; I can't close my eyes without seeing...
No...I won't think about it.
But the nightmares...
Brandy dulls the fear; something I'll admit not having the willpower to do for myself.
...you're...weak...
I pour more liquor down my throat. It alone can cut the icy ball of terror in my stomach.
...deny...it...?
Shut up.
...I...
Something soft and far away, like static heard through a tunnel, and then...
Silence. I put the brandy down.
I'm not crazy.
...say it enough times, and it'll be true...
Still silence, and I'm starting to relax again. I guess no news is good news.
What...?
There's a low chuckle...no, it's an insane cackle, coming from...somewhere.
Eerie...familiar...
"Who's there?" I call out. I'm not crazy.
I'm not!