Awakening

13: Voice

"Damnit; of course this stuff is old..."

Blake pulled apart a small rollup of ivory-colored gauze but noticed it did not stretch out very well. He didn't have much of a choice, though, as he wrapped the medicinal cloth around his wounded arm the best he could. The hydrogen peroxide had stung so much he almost couldn't move. His normally high tolerance for pain could not compare to his current wounds or the subsequent dressing.

Some of the gashes on his shoulder were still exposed, but there was nothing he could do. He rubbed some alcohol onto his shoulder and side as gently as he could, feeling the sting of the chemical seeping into some of the scratches. Afterwards he put his shirt on over his head and arms with great care, and then he grabbed the scythe next to him on the kitchen table.

A nearby microwave read 8:45. Alisha left before he did, yet still she had not returned home. Something was wrong; and Blake grew more and more worried by the minute. His fingers fidgeted around in his pants pocket for a moment, even though he knew there was no point.

I wish I had a phone too..... he mulled as he slowly made his way down the hall, back towards the front door. He felt completely blind, both to the goings on in the outside world and even in his own house. He absolutely hated it; despite having such a large weapon to aid him he still carried in his mind this nagging feeling of helplessness.

Blake poked his head into the living room, and looked around at every inch and corner of the space. His back still tingled with the slightest burning sensation, but the house was quiet. Even so the smallest step still incurred a creak that seemingly shook the whole floor, so he proceeded with both silence and caution. Still, nothing.

Something isn't right here, he thought to himself. It's like they're waiting nearby. For me? Something else?

Whatever happened with the shadows would have to wait, because a new sensation overcame Blake. An icy chill up his back and through his shoulders. They did not cool the pain in his arms, but his focus on the feeling did take some of the discomfort away. In all the chaos with the constant shadowy sightings, namely in the last week or so, he nearly forgot about the lost souls still roaming the area.

The shadows might have scared off some, maybe, he wondered. But, not all of them, clearly. All he knew was that if there were indeed spirits around, he might need to protect them. At least now he could. Or, he was sure he could......

The grip he had on the scythe remained firm and unyielding as he finally took a step towards the living room exit. Something felt different about the hallway, however. Was it darker, longer? The sun had to have dipped below the horizon by now, but still, the very air of the hallway he now walked through seemed heavy, and tasted thick with something that wasn't quite clean or normal. The chill across his back intensified, and Blake wondered if the nearby spirit did not stand outside as he originally suspected.

His suspicions were confirmed the moment he stepped into the kitchen and looked left. He was about to lift the scythe as a means of defense but stopped himself in the nick of time.

"Are you alright?" Blake asked.

The figure had a transparency about it, but still stood out clearly enough that Blake identified a middle-aged woman hunched over and sporting very short hair. But something felt different. Call it instinct or just a wild guess, but he sensed something recognizable about this particular spirit. Oddly enough, the familiarity seemed mutual the longer the spectre stared his way.

First things first, though; he needed information. The scythe still tightly gripped and his senses alert, Blake asked again, "Are you okay? What happened to you?"