The Haunting of Keith Kogane

Chapter 2: Sensation

The darkness is smothering. Its shadows are rampant, crawling over the walls to ooze into the life of every unwary soul. Corrupted are the tendrils that climb up the young man's skin, under the guise of a warm caress.

Alert, blue eyes shoot open through a thin veil of black.

Everything is silent, like it should be. The stillness shrills in a piercing ring. He is alone in his room, on his bed where there should be nothing to fear. All of his things were right where he left them; his messenger bag haphazardly in a corner, and a pair of red converse laying by it; worn and faded in color ...

Yes, everything was like he left it ... Why is his chest tightening then?

Ribbons of bright yellow sliced through the blinds, reminding him that he has somewhere to be. Even if he's reluctant his brain tries to arise the rest of his body.

Not one muscle moves.

Confusion comes along with insistence that ends in a hollow attempt.

Panic ruptures his beating muscle, it drowns his chest then spreads like vines.

It gets cold. Far too cold even for the blanket that should protect him from the bite.

Expectation creeps eerily and twists the mental fortitude it is supposed to create.

His fingers spas as full awareness bring the shadows closer. They rush nearer with every desperate breath that fights their way pass the clog in his chest.

No amount of effort helps with making not even the smallest of movements. It is when instinct demands to call out for help, but his lips are stuck together. Not that his tongue does any better, it can produce no more than a pathetic, minuscule whimper.

The knob on his door turns, unbidden, offering the hope of someone, somehow has heard his pleas.

The door creaks, apprehensive to show what hides behind. Silence greets him with the smell of something burning. A stench that's all too familiar.

Logic told him that the stove could be on, that there must be someone in the kitchen. Of course, it was little comfort to him.

He hears a wheeze. Raspy in a way that is almost inhuman. That too, he recognizes.

Tears scratch at the eyes he moves about in a frantic search for any escape. As if that can free him from the paralysis, deep down he knows better. Impatient his mind becomes, blaring alarm bells that fizzle out in the nothing. The wheezing drags itself closer with every raps of breath. Rationale dictates that muscles should move in tandem with instincts.

Please no, he wants to say. Please go away, he wants to beg. But his tongue was dead weight. Even small noises was an arduous task.

If he closed his eyes it would go away, or so he believed.

The wheezing stops.

For a moment he thinks he can breathe.

Bone crushing pain grapples one of his wrists.

Screams ram against his throat desperate to break free from their prison. His breath falters, it comes short, interrupted, it feels like an ice cold spear has impaled his lungs. The grip pulls wanting to drag him into the unknown.

The Darkness smothers. Its shadows became chains. It is a tormentor that dutifully shows him his biggest nightmare. A tall figure merged with unnatural shadows. The smell of burned skin reaffirms its grip on his lungs.

Keith. Keith. Come with us, Keith.

Soundless words that whisper chills upon his skin, they shake him from head to toe. He forces a sound from deep within but his lips are still sealed.