In the Shadows by R.T. Adams (little readers TXT) 📕

This story was created off the top of my mind. No planning, nothing. Even the character's names were thrown in without proper planning or thinking. So if it's bad or anything, there you have it.

It’s always lingering, following, watching. Always there, but not once did anyone think about it, not until the time I spoke up about it. They never thought of it as a possibility, not scientists, priests, preachers, not even those who believe in the superficial. But oh, do I know that they exist. They’re always there, watching, following you every step you take. No, no, not the shadows themselves. Not the shadows, but what’s in the shadows. They hide. They hide in the shadows, in corners, in alleyways, in even a human’s shadow. They hide and they watch, waiting for the perfect time to strike. What do we call it, you may ask. Well, we call it death, the one thing which shall await us at the end of our given time. We fear all the things that could kill us, such as other humans, animals, natural disasters, but those are not what we should fear. We should fear death, that which lies in the shadows, waiting to strike. Death creeps ever closer, but it is not visible to the normal human eye. It is not tangible to the normal human hand. It is not audible by the normal human ear. It is not tasteable to the normal human tongue. It is not smellable by the normal human nose. No, no, normal human senses shall not work with death. Death is hidden to all but one, as I am not a normal human. I have not normal human senses, but I had been gifted and cursed with such a blessed but demonic ability. I can see death. I can hear death. I can smell death. I can feel death. I can even taste death. Not in the least is it pleasurable. The sight is ever so ghastly. The sound is harsh and crushing. The smell is disgusting, revolting. The feeling is horrible and agonizing. The taste, it is ever so nauseous. However, I must do such things, such things as save those who death is close to. Yes, those who death is close to, not who is close to death. I have been called insane for my words and for my actions, but no one truly knows what it is I speak of or do. I have seen many taken by death. Death settles in the shadows, waiting. When the person is taken by death, death wraps around them, enveloping the entirety of their body, the entirety of their soul. Death’s grip is far too strong for any of us to overcome. Death’s grip shall not let us go. However, I do not have a death. Once my time comes, my soul shall linger in limbo, it shall remain forever in this world, the world we call Earth. I shall never obtain satisfaction, nor shall I obtain eternity in agonizing pain. Rather, I shall remain in the middle, forever watching them, humans and what is in their shadows, death.

Science can prove nothing about death. Religion can prove nothing about death. Only that it is the end of one’s life. Or perhaps we were never living to begin with, but always dying. When one is birthed, so is another death. When one dies, so does death. If a death is not birthed with a newborn, there are two outcomes. One comes that who is similar to myself, one who can see death in the shadows. One who can touch, feel, taste, and hear death. The other is that death has already taken the newborn away, which is the most likely option. I do not fear death. I fear becoming a lingering soul, one who shall never return to anywhere, not to a new body, not to heaven, nor to hell. I fear being in limbo. I fear being alone. I fear the emptiness that is to come. I fear eternity. Is fear like death, ever lingering in the shadows? Can someone see my fear, gripping my throat, squeezing ever so hard to keep latched onto me? Or is there no one who has no fears? I am not experienced in that area, and so I would not know. Is fear all in the mind, or is it something in our shadows, keeping bound to us so it never fades away? So many questions, but there are no answers to all the questions that have and could be asked. The world is a mysterious place, keeping us in the dark about what truly stands near us. I’ve not once met another who can see, feel, taste, hear, and smell death, not once. I am unsure if I ever shall meet another who can also see death. Death is no God, death is no angel, death is not any of the sorts. Death is a hidden, breathing thing that stands next to us, but is not truly alive. It hides in our blind spots, the places in which we cannot see it. Not literally, but mentally. It hides itself from us. However, death cannot hide from me. Death should not fear anything but me. Death should fear me, death should escape from me. But death does not let go once it has grabbed on, no, not until one forces death to let go.

Today, I stand and watch all the deaths passing along with their hosts, walking along the street, minding their own business. I look down at my shadow, but nothing is there, not a death for myself. I see all the deaths, each one closer than others. They are hungry, waiting for their host to fall to their death. Death rises from within the shadow, pulling itself up by grabbing onto the host it has selected. The more one wishes not to die, the stronger death is. The more one wishes to die, the weaker death is. An old man passes by me. Death is already at the man’s throat, its hands already at his throat, squeezing slowly. In front of me, the old man halts. He stops, not to move. Slowly, death starts wrapping around him. His entire body soon being enveloped by death. He slowly falls to the ground with a harsh thud. People around all gasp and rush to surround the man, but it is far too late to do anything. Coming out of the man, his soul, as death is wrapped around it. Slowly, it ascends. To heaven this old man’s soul shall go. As all this happens, I take a cigarette from the pack I had on me and light it, puffing a bit of smoke and watching the people. I see one particular person who turns to me, noticing my cigarette, but they quickly halt as they see me. However, when I look closer at the woman, I notice she does not have a death. Can she see death, as well?

“You,” she says, horrified by me, “You’re shrouded.” Shrouded? What does she mean?

“I haven’t a clue what your words mean, ma’am.”

“Shrouded in death.” Death? Nonsense. A death does not occupy me. A death does not claim me as their host.

“You speak nonsense, woman,” I say aloud, plainly for those around to hear, even, “Each and every person here has a death, except me, and except you.”

“No, no, you, too, have not one death, but many.”

“But death comes from the shadows, crawling up one’s body, soon to envelope the shell and soul of the human, as you saw from that old man. I have not once seen death on me, not once has it crawled up my body to take me.”

“But you are most certainly covered in death. Death is all around you, more than a single one.”

“What shall you mean?” I state. Now, a crowd of people have formed around us, the two speaking of death, shadows, and such nonsense, so they think.

“Have you saved many from death?” she asks me.

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Death latches on to saviours, as well. Not one, but every death you have prevented has latched on to you.”

“The death of others has latched onto me?” I had been confused. Not once have I heard or seen this.

“However, even though you are shrouded, not one can extract your soul.”

“I see.” I learn new things everyday, but this is a big learn.

“Once you die, you will not go to heaven, nor shall you go to hell. However, you shall not linger around in limbo.”

“What do you mean?” I shall not linger in limbo? I haven’t a clue what it means.

“No, not in limbo, but in purgatory.”

“Purgatory?” The one place everyone should fear even more than hell. Purgatory, a location where lost or hopeless souls are tossed away, like trash. My soul, however, is not lost, nor is it hopeless.

“For saving those who were meant to die, you have been banished from both hell and heaven, but you cannot remain in limbo, otherwise, you can still stop death. Thus, you will be thrown into purgatory, a place of eternal suffering and boredom. A place where you are forced to watch all the horrid events of your life pass by, over and over. A place where nightmares occur, a place where those you love die over and over right in front of you, where horrid things happen, even worse than hell’s everlasting eternal burning.” And now, I suppose I have something new to fear, purgatory. I suppose it makes sense, if you block death from doing its job, they’d probably resent you. After all, they aren’t just doing their job, they’re feeding off of the human.

“I’m ready to accept purgatory,” I said, “Even if it means my own eternal suffering, I’d like to save others.”

“So you’re willing to throw your own life away for others,” she said to me, “Such a kind heart.”

“Not at all,” I said. Of course, I wasn’t sure if I was lying or not.

“So, if I were close to death, you’d save me?”

“Of course. I save everyone I come across, if I have the ability to,” I said, “Old age is something different. I can’t save them once their throat has been enveloped.” When one’s throat is completely covered, it’s far too hard to release death’s grip, and so all you can do is just stand there and watch them die. After a few more exchanges of words, we part ways, not without first giving our address and number to each other. It’s possible we could partner up together. Not that she’d be saving other’s, because she doesn’t want to be stuck in purgatory, which I’m already locked in to go.

Construction sites, a place where a lot of death likes to linger around, mostly because of falling objects which crush the humans. Death cannot leave shadows, and so at night, they are most active, roaming around, finding a new location. It may sound strange, but there are stray deaths, which they fought for a host and failed, so