It Exists9 mins 11.1K 9 mins 11.1K
Static. One word to decipher the meaning of what emanated from the screen. The shadow moved at what speed, in what direction he knew not but he could certainly tell that it was inhuman. From the outside, someone would say he was stunned but from the inside, he was petrified. He felt his scalp tingle and the top of his spine jerk as he hugged himself, looking around wildly with the fear of being struck down.
Then he realized, josh; his friend, his brother, a part of his soul was removed as easily as an unnoticeable speck of dust, whose destiny hung by the slightest whim of fate, just that this time fate was cruel to him in a plain and straightforward way. Fate, with no concern for love or life, is completely heartless in nature.
Feebly, he helped himself up with the support of a nearby wall and dragged himself to the window ledge from where faint light streaked across his room. He felt the soft wind brush against his face as he looked down at the overcrowded avenue. People busy with their own lives, blissfully ignorant of how easily fate can destroy meager lives, the same way they are created. Only that this time, Dalton took control of his own and did what fate did to his friend.
Then, faint, muffled noises and a fainter siren repeating its irritating noise. Life! Hope! It felt enlightening and powerful. "You cannot give up just yet..." a deep voice resonated inside himself which he knew wasn't his own. “Dalton! Stay determined!" the voice carried energy that coursed through his being.
The energy brought back life to him but most importantly, a purpose to live. Very slowly, he realised warmth wrapped around himself following a sense of structure, his body and the black blankness that surrounded his being, turning into a deep red. He lived. The words echoed through him.
As he tried to open his eyes, he squinted to see where he was. It was white. Everywhere. The bed he was lying on, the table, the walls. Everything was white. He thought to himself if this is what heaven looks like, but at that moment, an unfamiliar face walked in.
"So you woke!” said the doctor.
"What? Where am I? What's today?" asked Dalton, trying to sit up.
"No! Wait! Stop! You need rest, okay? Don't try to move or sit or anything," advised the doctor.
"You’re in the state hospital and today is the 17th of July," answered the doctor.
"What happened to me? Why am I here?" questioned Dalton.
The doctor took a breath and sat by him on a chair took a long moment and began explaining, "that day, you had been discovered by a runner and were taken directly to the hospital into the emergency theatre and found out we could extend your life but the chances of saving you were almost nil. Your parents arrived in a half-hour, which I don't know how, and asked for your status. The look on their faces was usual for us but for them, the news was so unbearable that even when they tried keeping their despair inside themselves, they couldn't stand in their places.
"A whole week passed but your situation only worsened where any hope was deserted. But then suddenly, you started to recover from the worst, the reasons for which even I cannot explain, and your health escalated from there on till now."
Dalton had no words. He couldn't imagine how the simple feelings he felt were so effective, so much so that it made his own recovery a miracle. "The joy on your parents' faces was so agreeably satisfying because even in my own service of about 20 years, this was quite a feat." smiled the doctor.
But even above all this, josh's death seemed unforgettable for Dalton." josh...oh, josh. I could have found some signs, I could figure out some truth... I-I knew something was wrong but I think I didn't tell you because I thought you would've laughed at me and call me a fool?" Dalton mumbled to himself as he winced and balanced his head on his palm.
"Ah yes." said the doctor putting away a few files he was reading and inquired curiously "who's this josh you keep talking about?"
"What do you mean? Keep talking about? I've never mentioned his name up till now."
"Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Every day when you were in coma, you would have unexplainable seizures and you would keep mumbling 'josh, josh, josh' to yourself”
"Did I ever say anything except josh?"
"Well, once. You said something. Pretty sure it sounded like 'look behind you', but that was it then it was 'josh' for the rest of the week." the doctor answered.
"Okay. Thank you doc." said Dalton.
"Now that you are feeling better I’ll have dinner brought in for you. Eat it and get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna to be a long day." said the doctor before leaving exiting.
"Doc! I didn't get your name." exclaimed Dalton.
Then, with a smile, he replied, "its murphy. Dr James murphy."
Dinner was what pretty much what every patient would get. Bland food. No spicy stuff. No sweets and not even salt. They even skipped the dessert!
It was five minutes after the clock displayed '11:30 p.m.' that Dalton’s eyes began drooping shut. Although he had regained control of his body, sleep, however, was one thing he couldn't gain control over. It would continually disobey his orders until slowly, after each passing moment, he fell asleep.
The clock displayed '3:34 a.m.'. Dalton was wide awake. He had had a nightmare. One with a 'shadow'. He tried his best to forget about it but nothing that he did helped. He tried to sit up and this time he successfully did. As he took the blanket off of him he noticed something strange. There were hand prints on the blanket, but they weren't like that of a normal human. They had pointy fingers. Not pointy like a pen. Pointy like a knife.
The weirdest thing was that the handprints were made of blood. That was enough to get the adrenaline pumping through Dalton. He tried to move his legs off the bed and stand. As soon as he put his weight on his legs, they gave away and he crashed onto the floor.
He tried to stand up but it was of no use; he kept falling again and again. The anger subsided and fear kicked in. Only this time, fear was the most powerful. He gathered all the strength he could and with all his will, stood up and leapt for the door. He fell once more with an audible thump and couldn't get up. Fear, death, despair. These feelings only increased.
And he gave in, looking at the floor and started crying. A friend he loved died and there was no possible thing he could do. Nothing. He remained down there; silently weeping in the twilight.
Next day Dalton was discharged from the hospital and was heading back home with his parents. And in the car he sat silently, gazing outside, searching for something. After a long time, his mother asked, "are you okay, dear?” with evident concern in her voice. He shifted and replied, "Yes", feebly. She came closer to him laying her hand on his lap, running a hand down his hair with utmost fragility, "what happened, dear? I've heard many things, but I want to hear it from you, what harm would it do if you share your problem and help yourself?"
He looked up, at his mother, a beautiful and empowered woman whom he loved and looked up to holding a countenance full of worry and concern. It did little to ease him as her question played an unforgettable memory, frightening, vivid, clear and very painful. A single tear slid down his cheek as he turned his head the other way where that tear was followed by a flow of many more.
"Okay, you know what? We will talk about this later, at ease," she comforted him, “till then why not take a load off for the day? Should we go for an ice cream? It has been long since our last one." that, actually made him feel better, "why not?" he replied. She smiled at Dalton and told her husband in the front "harry, it will be ice cream then". "What do ya say, champ? Ice cream then?" asked his father with a smile showing an inherent "coolness". "I’d give it a yes," replying in a similar tone but later pulled away from it by a sense of nostalgia. Funny, how the shell of negativity was so big around him, that he was with his family but still felt distanced from it no matter how close it was to him.
At the parlour, he had his favourite flavour, mint pistachio that made him smile not matter what the issue is, helpless to the welcoming taste. But today all it did do was make him feel only momentarily happy. Then he returned to his dull state.
"'kay Dalton we have some errands to run till then why don't you hang out with your friends? They were dyin' to meetcha," asked his father. "Why not?" replied Dalton as if it were written in a script. His father smiled at him the same way for the last time and so did his mother, as they left.
"ayy Dalton! How’ve ya been bucko?" asked his old friend, martin. "Not that well but, seeing you guys would improve it," stated Dalton making place for seating near his two friends. "Sure as hell dude," replied his other mate, terry, "so just what happened?” "Not much, just a few bruises and fractures here and there," replies Dalton."haha, you know that's not enough," chatted martin, "but I think we should talk about something else."
Just then, " hey Dalton," inquired Allisa
"how've you been?" asked Alicia
These two friends of Dalton had such similar names that they were mistaken as sisters but that might not be the only reason as, "I’ve heard that you had an accident," said Allisa
"Not really an accident," answered Dalton "but yeah, better explained as accident.”
"Anyway hello Allisa, Alicia whassup?"
"I don't know much I think Alicia is up to some mischief with my book that has been lost for what should I say, two days?" insinuated Allisa
"Hey don't look at me like that, you lost it!"
And so their fight came before a conversation even took off.
Dalton let off a slight smile after all this, his family, his friends and his favorite ice cream. He felt himself healing when suddenly his phone rang, breaking the silence. It was from his home. "Excuse me," he said and moved to the side to hear the complex sounds coming from it
"Hello Dalton you done chillin' with your friends?" it was his dad
"One sec just gotta see something a- lo- fre-"
"Hello? Hello?" continued Dalton with disappointment but to no avail. He was irritated with his phone until he got the chills when he heard,
He didn't think, he just ran. His home was just a few blocks away so he reached back in time.
He didn't hesitate with the bell he just rammed into the door and literally took it off of its hinges. What lay in front of him, scarred him for life. His parents, lying in a pool of blood, with their bodies mangled and cut open. He felt pressure build up in his chest as he stood there just gawking at the sight. Contemplating whether it was real or just some hallucinations. He knelt down and touched his mother’s forehead. It was no hallucination. It was one of fate’s cruel tricks.