The Soul

Preface

    Cara knew she was damned. She stood up on trembling knees, feeling like her legs would give out under her, unable to support even her starved frame. Her hand moved into view, almost as if in slow motion, feeling like it wasn't her hand, but another's, who reached out to grab the nearest bedpost in order to steady her. She was numb all over, lethargic and drowsy. If she had had enough energy to, she would have scoffed at her feeling of drowsiness. What a disgusting word, even more disgusting since all she had been doing for the past three days was exactly that; she had tackled the art of sleeping with an almost numinous devotion, prisoner in her four-poster bed. She had known what she was surrendering herself to when she finally decided to get in contact with the Soul. She had been able to feel it getting stronger recently, could feel it's touch as it reached out to caress her face, her arms, her skin. It's touch had felt icy, raising the hair on the back of her neck painfully. She had known it wouldn't be too long before it reached her, and then through her. Three days ago, she knew what she had to do. The Souls presence had always been strongest at her most vulnerable state - when she was fast asleep. That's when the caresses had turned into grasps and shoves. It would pull and push her and on more than one occasion she would wake up on the cold tile floor, her covers dragged off the bed and onto the floor next to her. So when she thought about contacting it for a change, it had been clear what state she would have to be in.

     Two nights ago, she had laid across her bed, much in the same manner as she did every night, head situated in the middle of her pillow, her covers draped lightly over her petite figure. Her heart beat erratically, thumping against her ribcage painfully, feeling like it would fly right out if she didn't hold it in, and her hands shook uncontrollably. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt such prominent fear, and she didn't care what anyone said, the fear of making contact was much greater than being contacted. She had laid there in the dark, her room seemingly untouched by even the moonlight of the night, and she had waited. And waited. And waited. Slowly, her heartbeat had slowed, and slowed, and slowed, until it beat at the healthy 58 beats per minute. And her hand had stopped shaking, laying lightly over her stomach, just below her ribcage that no longer felt like it housed a nervous hummingbird. And she waited. The stress of the night caught up to her as it always did, and her once wide-open eyes started to close, and close, and close–

     Cara's eyes shot open, and her back arched off the stone-cold floor as a sharp pain ripped through her skull. Her hair was being touched - no, her hair was being pulled right out of her scalp, and the pain was so shockingly present that she couldn't help but let out a blood-curdling screech, her hands grasping at her head, searching for relief of any kind. Her neck cracked as it was pulled even farther back, and her eyes started to roll to the back of her head, getting blurry. She fought to stay awake, wanting even momentary relief from the pain but knowing that she wouldn't get any whether she stayed awake or allowed herself to drift away. Staying awake meant she could do what she knew she needed to do to get away from the pain forever. And it was during this fight to stay awake that she saw the blurry figure that visited her sometimes in her waking moments. The Soul. Hollow white eyes rimmed with dripping blood, pale-white skeletal face, and as she watched, it rose up above her face and opened its mouth, shark-like teeth covered in the blood of what she knew not. It was this mouth that yawned open above her screeching mouth, and it was this mouth that breathed alive its existence into her open mouth, and it was this mouth that now spread Cara's mouth, now it's mouth, into a slow smile, it's body standing by it's four-poster bed in it's room.

     Cara was damned.