My Answer is You

17. Sweating Bullets

God, not again.

But it's been so long.

Why is it--er, he--back again?

And in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TOO???

I didn't hear anything in particular this time, but something forced me awake.

I look at the time. 3:04 A.M.

Jesus, here we go again.

I get up out of bed and walk to my door. As I'm walking, my heart is beating fast and I feel a sense of overwhelming dread, though I don't understand why. I open my door quietly and slowly, nervous of what I may see around the corner. With the moonlight pouring in through the huge window at the end of the hallway, I was able to see nothing but the carpet and expensive framed paintings on the wall. Of course, I just peeked my head out to see nothing, so I closed my door again to head back to bed.

I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me, trying to get comfortable in hopes of falling asleep again, but to no avail.

So instead I roll my eyes up, exasperated at the fact I'm not able to sleep and OH FU--

I screamed like my life depended on it. I even started throwing hands and kicking at nothing.

"Fucking hell! Stop bellowing, you foul human!" He yelled at me. In one swift move, he shut me up by pinning my arms above my head with one hand and covering my mouth with his other.

My screams were muffled and my eyes were wild with fear.

"Listen! Stop struggling."

I didn't stop kicking, I couldn't control my movements at this moment.

"If you don't stop, then I may as well take your life now."

That one shook me to my core, as well as the ominous glare he forced onto me, and I felt daggers thrusting into my spine.

"Now, will you listen?"

I couldn't speak or move for fear that something terrible would happen to me. The air in the room was becoming dense and my head was spinning. This thick and horrid fog was suffocating me until he finally let go.

I gasped for air and coughed as he stepped away into the shadows of my room.

"Who the fuck are you? And why have I been seeing shit ever since the last time you were here?!" I demanded answers. I couldn't deal with this torture any longer.

He didn't answer me. All he did was stare at me with his radiating eyes emanating a sense of malice I've never seen before.

"You rubbish torment me day and night. I have no other business with the likes of you except to attain your souls," his rich British accent intending all means of disgust and discomfort. "And in all my decades of collecting souls, you are the first to disrupt my progress."

"Me? How?" I ask, totally dumbfounded.

"You were never supposed to meet me before your death. Now that you've seen me without your soul being taken, you are stuck in the shift between life and death."

"The shift...between...life and death? What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly as it implies. You are very well alive but in the transitioning stage from the real world to the afterlife. Hence you see spirits, or ghosts as you humans call them."

"So, I'm not dead but I'm somewhere in between living and dead?"

"Physically, you are alive and well. Your internal organs and systems overall are untouched and prospering. Your soul, however, is stuck in between the shift of life to death."