SEAL Team 666

24

They said it was a Hantu Kabor—a grave demon. Sometimes he could still feel its oily fingers slithering through his thoughts. The feeling was so acute, it felt as if it had never left. And in those panicked moments, he experienced the return of the helplessness that had so consumed his life in the months it had owned him.

He’d been walking home from school when it had entered him. He remembered the day perfectly. School had let out. He’d ended up leaving late because of detention. The streets were empty except for the occasional passing car, and even then, the windows were so heavily tinted that he couldn’t see the people inside. The feeling of being alone crept up on him, until finally it was the echo of his own footsteps against the brick-walled buildings that brought his fear alive.

The sky hung heavy with the threat of rain, lugubrious gray clouds ready to let go. The crisp air swirled with a cold wind that carried trash down the street in blustery gusts. Jack remembered the feeling of being watched. He’d turn around to check, but there was no one else there. Where the feel of invisible eyes touched him, it left spots that glowed with cold.

Then came the whispers. At first they were unintelligible. Multilingual, he could catch snippets of Tagalog, English, what sounded like German and Chinese, plus thousands of other words. Always on the edge of comprehending, he found himself trying desperately to understand as the whispers chased him down.

The first time he tripped, he blamed it on the uneven sidewalk. He fell hard to his knees, skinning both of them so that blood seeped from the dirt-encrusted wounds. He climbed back to his feet and began to run. The whispers grew louder. He thought he heard a single word—Jackie. Then he fell a second time, the pressure of an invisible hand between his shoulder blades propelling him forward.

He got up slowly as the wind increased and the voices grew louder. Now and then he could pick out a word he recognized, but he couldn’t string enough together to figure out the meaning. He’d begun to cry, although he wasn’t sure when. His knees and hands burned with fresh wounds.

He’d dropped his books somewhere behind him and now he staggered toward his home. His hands were out in front of him and dripping blood; he had only two more blocks to go when the whispers and the wind stopped so completely it was as if the world had just been paused.

Jack stopped himself and turned. He saw only buildings with gaping empty windows, the forlorn street, piles of trash and leaves as still as if the world had become a snapshot. He was entirely alone.

Alone.

Except for the breathing.

Imperceptible at first, the sound grew in strength. Low huffs from a beast, the sounds emanated from right behind him. Afraid of what he might see, he still couldn’t help turning around, trying with increasing desperation to see what wasn’t there.

Then he felt the other, as if a greasy hand was laid on the back of his neck. He screamed and tried to shake it off, but it increased in weight and ferocity. Suddenly it shoved him to his knees. His head slammed against the ground. His back arched and the greasy hand slid inside the back of his head with an explosion of pain so great his jaws couldn’t make any sound.

Then his universe exploded like a sheet of black glass and fell away.

At that moment he could understand the voices. They’d been telling him to run. They’d been telling him to get far away. Most were sorry that he’d joined their ranks. But there were some who were happy to have his company. Locked inside the limitless mind of the grave demon, they were eager to live again. Jack represented a newness they could eat and consume, and they would take his memories and make them their own until there was nothing left of little Jackie Walker or until eternity burned away.