“You and I are not very different,” the shadowless human said. He was waiting outside the eatery where Jason worked, as if he was a friend Jason walked home with. Jason had become wary of him since he set his eyes on him the first time. He was the only one who could see him. The locals believed that it was only spirits who moved about without shadows. Stories had been told about shadowless creatures and haunted houses. He suspected that he was running mad and had to avoid this new acquaintance at every cost. He ignored the creature and kept walking, hoping that in ignoring him, he would leave him alone.
“One of the men you made to choke the other day has died at the hospital. Guess which people are accused of killing him with witchcraft,” the man said again and Jason’s heart skipped a bit.
“What are you saying?” he asked, turning to the man.
“Nothing, bro,” Grant said, walking past Jason, then turning to look at him funny. Jason’s eyes were fixed on somewhere else and not him. He did not know what to make of it, so he continued walking. The latter had not seen him walk past.
“Your siblings are in danger. You are in danger. The people you choked are in the hospital; their friends and family are not. Why are you still in your uncle’s house, you stubborn boy? What do you think it will take to kill you in God’s name, stupid weakling?”
“Do not call me that!” Jason warned, wondering where he found the strength to warn something the sun could not catch, something only he could see. Nevertheless, he quickened his pace and hurried towards home.
“I can help you, you dumbo. All you have to do is to kill these people after your lives.”
“I don’t kill people,” Jason said, surprised that he felt so much about this, even though he had wished very much for his uncle’s death.
“You want your uncle dead, yet you cannot kill him? Coward!”
“Shut up!” Jason screamed and passers-by watched him curiously. He stared at them all awkwardly, muttered an excuse and continued hurrying to his house.
He was at the house now and the only thing that filled his heads were thoughts of escaping from this place. Where to, he did not know. As usual, the twins were by themselves in the house, but Duke was nowhere to be found.
“Where is Duke?” he asked, out of breath.
“He is out playing soccer at the field.”
The field! Anything could happen at the field. Before the police would come, it would be too late. Jason wanted to go to the city. He was tired of the countryside with its stupid superstitions and poverty.
“Quickly, pick these things, we are leaving this place.”
Jack and Tim moved fast. They were upbeat about leaving the house. Soon as they were done, they hurried towards the field to drag Duke along with him.
They were met with the most shocking of sights; Duke being dragged along the field, screaming out his lungs. Most of the people dragging him were his supposed playmates, the others merely did not want to miss out on the fun, whatever that was. Bullies!
“Leave him alone!” Jason screamed, rushing towards the mob.
Duke, seeing his chance as the mob paused for a while, took it, running across the road at the same time a truck swept down it.
“Duke!” Jason screamed.
But it was too late. Duke dashed headlong into the road, intent on escaping his bullies. The truck, moving faster than it was supposed to, slammed into him, lifting him high up into the sky where he completed one full rotation before his body came smacking down on the asphalt.
The noise died down. People were gradually getting back to their senses. Jason ran to the middle of the road as the truck thundered down it and out of sight.
Duke looked very badly beaten. There was blood trickling from his forehead, his eyes were swollen. His nose locked the red liquid as well and his eyes were shut. His head was splattered open, allowing Jason see the broken skull.
“No,” Jason muttered. “No, no, no. This cannot be.”
But it was. Little Duke lay lifeless on the ground. A hush had fallen over the bullies. It was then that Jasonsniffed. His smaller siblings and the ascian standing between them, holding them by the shoulder while they sniffed.
“No!” Jason screamed. There was a rumble in the sky as if his voice was the thunder. The first gust of wind scratched through the atmosphere, carrying dust along its path. The sky became gloomy all of a sudden and lightning struck too close to home.
The mob froze. This was new and unexpected. The hate they saw in Jason’s eyes was one with the weather. No doubt a million frightening thoughts of being roasted by the lightning while they were out here started to cross their minds.
“I hate you all!” the boy screamed from the ground. As if to bring home his declaration, lightning struck again, this time it almost hit one of them. They saw it strike the ground close to their feet.
The spell broke. The mob scattered, running in different directions as if their lives depended on it. There were only three people apart from Jason syi on the playground after the crowd had dispersed. The twins came to him and Duke.
“Duke,” Jason called. He had difficulty standing, so he fell to the ground beside his brother. “Duke.” His voice was getting frantic.
Duke was not moving; his eyes were shut and his skin glistened with the first drops of rain that had come with the rumbling sky.
“Duke!” Tim screamed. He had felt the panic in Jason’s voice and young as he was, he understood what that meant.
Jack stood by the side, tears glimmering in his eyes. It seemed the boy had already given up on life before it started.
“He is dead, is he not?” he asked.
Jason had no answer. He looked towards the edge of the field for an answer and found the ascian. In the impending darkness of the night and the overhanging gloom of the clouds, he was no longer one without a shadow; he was his own shadow and that was the only thing he was.
That was his answer.
The priest slapped her backside as she walked past the desk again. She was wearing a black gown, the longest gown her mother bought for her. It was big on her, but still her behind was hardly hidden beneath it, at least not for the priest. Annabel did not bother turning to look at him because she knew she would find that stupid grin on his face. She could not now remember how many times she wished she had the power to wipe that grin off his face in the most painfully shocking way possible.“Go and lock the door, so your confession can begin,” the man said with an air of one who knew he would not be disobeyed.Annabel walked towards the door. At first she moved slowly, like someone hesitant on a course of action, then she locked the door with firm and sure moves, neither fast nor slow. When she turned towards the priest, there was this daring look on her face that got the priest frightened for all of ten seconds before he finally convinced himself that the g
Marcus, the blacksmith, had known from the moment he saw the boy that he was not okay. How could someone lose both parents on the same day, and go about gloomily ever since? Sometimes, he even saw the boy muttering to himself as he walked along. What kind of child does not join boys his age to play? What kind of boy does not join in jokes with boys his age, but would rather be inside that small room of theirs with his brothers making plans on how to kill his uncle and probably destroy the whole neighborhood? Yes, they were making plans. That was what he would call it because children played. Most importantly, what kind of child appeared in the dreams of not one, not two, but many locals here? The boy was always a frightening feature in dreams, and Marcus just could not deal with that. He was a deeply superstitious man. Marcus was beyond convinced now that the boy was possessed with something. Maybe he was a witch. If not, how could he have known
Grant loved to fuck. He knew all the girls who were quiet and still went to the back of their houses to have one boy give it to them, hot. He would know, he was one of those boys after all. Life was hard. Added to that was the fact that he was born in Daltom, one of the poorest counties in the country. Without parents, surviving was hard. He blamed whatever was in charge of delivering new babies to their deserving or undeserving parents. The fool decided to hand him over to two poor people living in Daltom. Two poor people who could not even pretend that he was alive. There was nothing Grant had not done since he came of age and discovered he was alone in the world. His mother would rather buy new clothes than to give an old boy like him money. His father would rather spend his days in the in a pub, getting drunk. He would squander all the money he got from being a cab driver. After all, Grant was in his twenties. He was already supposed to have moved out of their house. The old man
The food for dinner was particular good. Jason sat at the table and watched his brothers eat the last of the grains. This was the life that he had always wanted for them, yet he was feeling ill at ease.The house was a beach house, filled with three rooms, a toilet, a bath and a shower. Outside, there was a great view, and the beach was not afar off.They sat at the table, close to the outside and Jason felt naked because the walls were made of glass. They could easily be seen, except they went further into the house. But the luxury that the house afforded distracted him. There was the TV that took the whole of the wall, the glass table, the soft, comfortable sofas, the chandelier, the marble, mirror like floor, bedroom with a bed as bed as a whole field. He had insisted that they all would sleep on the same bed, and kept promising himself to go out to see where they were. But he was afraid, afraid of the thing that brought them here. It was not a figment of his imaginatio
They caused it. You were not wrong. The man had it coming.Annabel folded her hands together. She could still hear the voice of the figure in her head. She could still hear the priest screaming out in pain as she went murderously insane on him. She was looking at herself on top of the priest, an insane child, bringing the knife down again and again on the priest till his body was just one bloody mess. She stabbed the priest so much that she could not recognize his face. The smirk was gone; the authoritative stance disappeared. The last thing she had seen of the face was of unbelief and fear. The priest had looked at her as if she was a monster.“I am a monster,” she mumbled.No.“I am.”You are not.“Who are you?!”She was in a museum, which was closed by the looks of it. Just behind the entrance. She sat on the ground, allowing her gown to wipe the dirt on the floor.The voice in her head had disappeared. Frightened, she looked about th
Little demons under the bed. That was exactly what little Andrew hated. And there were a lot of them.“Goodnight, little one,” his father said, smiling at him.They were in his room. He wanted his dad to keep staying there, but he knew the man would leave his room soon. That was when they usually came. The monsters that shuffled around under his bed. They would play and roll about waiting for when his legs would mistakenly extend out of the bed, then they would grab his legs and pull him under.Andrew was eight, and he believed under the bed was a portal of some sort. If he ever went under there at night, he would find himself in the land of the monsters. He only dreamt about these monsters. There were those with red, glinting eyes and arms longer than their legs. There were those whose hands were blades, who felt rather than saw him. They had no eyes. The only thing on their face a mouth.The descriptions of these monsters were so vivid in hi
He is your uncle’s son. Jason heard the voice in his head, as the boy raced out of the room. He could feel the presence of some other creatures in the room. Red-eyed, malevolent creatures. They had the same hate in his heart that he had for this house. This was where the process of his exile had begun, where he was made the dog and given a bad name. The flash that brought him here had all happened too fast. One moment, Jason was in the holiday house with his brothers, the next he was in their old house, hanging by the window and staring into a room. At first, he was terrified. He was just there, standing on air, and gravity was useless. Then he saw the room into which he stared into. It belonged to his uncle’s first and only son, Tommy. Tommy was not the best friend anyone could have, but he was not the terrible person his dad was either. He drew himself to the window ledge and held it for fear of gravity suddenly switching back on and leaving him
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” the man said, leaning back against the seat in the box. On the other side, he could hear the father’s deep breathing. The priest knew the sound of his voice. Always, he would come here to confess his sins. And always, when he went out, these sins drew him back in. The sin of defilement, of both his body and that of others. He was tired of it. “Speak, son,” the priest replied. The man, Conrad, sighed. His lips were heavy, laden with the imminent confession of a sin that he was ashamed of, a sin that he was guilty of. This sin tormented him, made him feel less of himself, filthy, dirty, and without salvation. But the word if God stood sure. That was his only saving grace. If he confessed his sins and forsook them, he would be forgiven. “I confess my sins every time I get the chance,” he began. “Still, every day, I go out and I am faced with these sins once again. I am tired
The day passed slowly, and Jason sat on the bed, staring dully at his brothers. They still could not see him or feel him, or even sense him. They did not talk about him, but he could see in the tenseness in their bodies that they knew something was wrong. It was almost a whole day since Jason was gone, and he was not yet back, not according to his brothers anyway. “Do you think he is okay?” Jack asked. His voice broke Jason’s heart. The twins were not yet supposed to be on their own. The three of them were not yet supposed to be on their own. Nothing that was happening here was normal. Not the ascian, not his own disappearance, not the eerie howling of the wind outside, which was making the twins even more frightened. They had not left the room since he got there. You want to talk to them, don’t you? The voice was annoying, mocking him. He knew there was nothing he could do to get back at the owner of the voice. Whoever it was, was far more powerful than anyt
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” the man said, leaning back against the seat in the box. On the other side, he could hear the father’s deep breathing. The priest knew the sound of his voice. Always, he would come here to confess his sins. And always, when he went out, these sins drew him back in. The sin of defilement, of both his body and that of others. He was tired of it. “Speak, son,” the priest replied. The man, Conrad, sighed. His lips were heavy, laden with the imminent confession of a sin that he was ashamed of, a sin that he was guilty of. This sin tormented him, made him feel less of himself, filthy, dirty, and without salvation. But the word if God stood sure. That was his only saving grace. If he confessed his sins and forsook them, he would be forgiven. “I confess my sins every time I get the chance,” he began. “Still, every day, I go out and I am faced with these sins once again. I am tired
He is your uncle’s son. Jason heard the voice in his head, as the boy raced out of the room. He could feel the presence of some other creatures in the room. Red-eyed, malevolent creatures. They had the same hate in his heart that he had for this house. This was where the process of his exile had begun, where he was made the dog and given a bad name. The flash that brought him here had all happened too fast. One moment, Jason was in the holiday house with his brothers, the next he was in their old house, hanging by the window and staring into a room. At first, he was terrified. He was just there, standing on air, and gravity was useless. Then he saw the room into which he stared into. It belonged to his uncle’s first and only son, Tommy. Tommy was not the best friend anyone could have, but he was not the terrible person his dad was either. He drew himself to the window ledge and held it for fear of gravity suddenly switching back on and leaving him
Little demons under the bed. That was exactly what little Andrew hated. And there were a lot of them.“Goodnight, little one,” his father said, smiling at him.They were in his room. He wanted his dad to keep staying there, but he knew the man would leave his room soon. That was when they usually came. The monsters that shuffled around under his bed. They would play and roll about waiting for when his legs would mistakenly extend out of the bed, then they would grab his legs and pull him under.Andrew was eight, and he believed under the bed was a portal of some sort. If he ever went under there at night, he would find himself in the land of the monsters. He only dreamt about these monsters. There were those with red, glinting eyes and arms longer than their legs. There were those whose hands were blades, who felt rather than saw him. They had no eyes. The only thing on their face a mouth.The descriptions of these monsters were so vivid in hi
They caused it. You were not wrong. The man had it coming.Annabel folded her hands together. She could still hear the voice of the figure in her head. She could still hear the priest screaming out in pain as she went murderously insane on him. She was looking at herself on top of the priest, an insane child, bringing the knife down again and again on the priest till his body was just one bloody mess. She stabbed the priest so much that she could not recognize his face. The smirk was gone; the authoritative stance disappeared. The last thing she had seen of the face was of unbelief and fear. The priest had looked at her as if she was a monster.“I am a monster,” she mumbled.No.“I am.”You are not.“Who are you?!”She was in a museum, which was closed by the looks of it. Just behind the entrance. She sat on the ground, allowing her gown to wipe the dirt on the floor.The voice in her head had disappeared. Frightened, she looked about th
The food for dinner was particular good. Jason sat at the table and watched his brothers eat the last of the grains. This was the life that he had always wanted for them, yet he was feeling ill at ease.The house was a beach house, filled with three rooms, a toilet, a bath and a shower. Outside, there was a great view, and the beach was not afar off.They sat at the table, close to the outside and Jason felt naked because the walls were made of glass. They could easily be seen, except they went further into the house. But the luxury that the house afforded distracted him. There was the TV that took the whole of the wall, the glass table, the soft, comfortable sofas, the chandelier, the marble, mirror like floor, bedroom with a bed as bed as a whole field. He had insisted that they all would sleep on the same bed, and kept promising himself to go out to see where they were. But he was afraid, afraid of the thing that brought them here. It was not a figment of his imaginatio
Grant loved to fuck. He knew all the girls who were quiet and still went to the back of their houses to have one boy give it to them, hot. He would know, he was one of those boys after all. Life was hard. Added to that was the fact that he was born in Daltom, one of the poorest counties in the country. Without parents, surviving was hard. He blamed whatever was in charge of delivering new babies to their deserving or undeserving parents. The fool decided to hand him over to two poor people living in Daltom. Two poor people who could not even pretend that he was alive. There was nothing Grant had not done since he came of age and discovered he was alone in the world. His mother would rather buy new clothes than to give an old boy like him money. His father would rather spend his days in the in a pub, getting drunk. He would squander all the money he got from being a cab driver. After all, Grant was in his twenties. He was already supposed to have moved out of their house. The old man
Marcus, the blacksmith, had known from the moment he saw the boy that he was not okay. How could someone lose both parents on the same day, and go about gloomily ever since? Sometimes, he even saw the boy muttering to himself as he walked along. What kind of child does not join boys his age to play? What kind of boy does not join in jokes with boys his age, but would rather be inside that small room of theirs with his brothers making plans on how to kill his uncle and probably destroy the whole neighborhood? Yes, they were making plans. That was what he would call it because children played. Most importantly, what kind of child appeared in the dreams of not one, not two, but many locals here? The boy was always a frightening feature in dreams, and Marcus just could not deal with that. He was a deeply superstitious man. Marcus was beyond convinced now that the boy was possessed with something. Maybe he was a witch. If not, how could he have known
The priest slapped her backside as she walked past the desk again. She was wearing a black gown, the longest gown her mother bought for her. It was big on her, but still her behind was hardly hidden beneath it, at least not for the priest. Annabel did not bother turning to look at him because she knew she would find that stupid grin on his face. She could not now remember how many times she wished she had the power to wipe that grin off his face in the most painfully shocking way possible.“Go and lock the door, so your confession can begin,” the man said with an air of one who knew he would not be disobeyed.Annabel walked towards the door. At first she moved slowly, like someone hesitant on a course of action, then she locked the door with firm and sure moves, neither fast nor slow. When she turned towards the priest, there was this daring look on her face that got the priest frightened for all of ten seconds before he finally convinced himself that the g