The Calling

Lost Souls

In his head, it all seemed pretty straightforward; stuff the dead body into a few trash bags, carry it into the car and finally, drive to the rendezvous point. It was a simple enough plan on paper, but as he wrestled the frozen corpse all over the mortuary floor, he realized it would be anything but. The stainless steel cutting tools did not help matters either. Each time the body slipped from his grip, a whole set of them would somehow get knocked over, sparking an unpleasant medley of thuds and clinks as they hit the cement floor.

He remembered all the times he would playfully carry his wife from the living room to their bed. He never imagined that her being dead would make such a drastic difference, and yet there he was, heaving his lungs out as he begrudgingly contemplated dragging her to the car. And so he did. Though it had taken longer than expected, he gradually made his way to the back of the mortuary where he was parked. Using what little strength he had left, he managed to jostle her stiff corpse into the trunk. When all was said and done, the only thing left to do was stash the key under the potted plant out front as instructed by the mortician. Part of him wanted to tidy up the mess he had made, but the idea of leaving it as payback for the fortune he had spent to keep her body on ice for six months seemed more enticing.

He sat quietly at the wheel for a good ten minutes. On the passenger seat beside him was a box with its top cut off. Inside the box was a glass lamp that flickered as though it was almost out of fuel. He stretched out his hand above it to feel what remained of its warmth, "Only a few hours left, Jelly Bean. Soon we'll be together again."

With the screech of his tyres, he sped off into the distance. Although he had driven the same route many times before, it felt tenser than usual. His heart leapt to the back of his throat each time he saw a pair of headlights approach from his rear. The last thing he needed was the police stopping him - not on such an important day. Thankfully the roads seemed quieter in the late hours of the night. All he could hear was the sound of his engine humming along.

"Return the light, give back the key that you have stolen," whispered a voice from the backseat. He suddenly swerved off the road but swiftly steered the vehicle back to the asphalt. He slowly adjusted his rearview mirror, revealing a previously unnoticed elderly passenger seated behind him. His right eye was missing from its socket while the other dripped with yellow discharge. The discoloured skin on various parts of his body was slowly peeling, and his clothes reduced to but mere rags hanging precariously from what remained of his anatomy.

As soon as he spotted the old man, he immediately shifted his gaze back to the road ahead. "How many times should I tell you - I'm not afraid. There's nothing in this world or the next that can stop me from bringing her back."

"Listen here, young Molise, you know not the powers you trifle with. The witch feeds you lies. Give me the light before you doom us all."

He turned his gaze to the box beside him. The light it emitted twinkled in his eyes as tears began to well up inside them.

"What would you know about it? I lost everything when I lost her. There's no price too high for me. I suggest you either kill me now and take it or get the hell out of my way."

The old man fell silent, looking ahead at the road as though he had lost all interest in the driver in front of him. As Molise wiped off the tears in his eyes, his headlights landed on a stray pedestrian crossing the road right in front of him. He quickly slammed the breaks and reflexively shut his eyes, bracing for an impact that never came. As the silence grew, he slowly began to pry them open one at a time. Instead of the injured pedestrian he expected to see before him, he found himself surrounded by ghoulish beings that resembled his stowaway.

He quickly lifted his foot from the brakes and hit the accelerator once more. More figures appeared in the road before him, but this time he ran straight through them. Each one he ran over would dissolve into the chilly midnight air. His grip on the wheel tightened as his resolve was strengthened. The resistance had only served to motivate him.