It is a call for help.

The desperation in the voice is unmistakable. She points to a thatched hut nearby, and says something. I don’t understand the language, but can gather there is someone in there who needs help.

I follow her in there. There’s a strange sense of emptiness between us, like cold air, despite the warmth of sympathy I’m suffused with.

An emaciated figure lies on the bed, looking at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The gaze indicates the presence of life, but not a coveted one. 

I ask what can I do for them.

The figure indicates that s/he is nailed to the bed. I’m yet to figure out if it is a man or woman. I extend my hand, and feel a cold, hard grip on it. The figure is rising slowly from the bed, but I’m being drained out. It is as if there is a transfer of energy or life force happening – but to my detriment.

I want to run, but can’t loosen the grip. The figure is gradually swelling into a fuller human shape, but the skin is blue.

Everything around me is dark, and I want to scream. But the vocal chords seem to have given away. I’m nailed to the bed.

The woman who called me in is nowhere to be seen, but I sense a cold presence around me, breathing heavily.

“Shhh! It’s your turn now.”

12 thoughts on “Shadows

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