Haunted

Everywhere I go, I see him.


Behind every turn, around every corner, I would see him. His lingering figure, dark and crooked, waiting for my arrival. His ominous face hides behind a veil of darkness and his solemn eyes mask his undying agitation. He is a shadow; lurking behind my every move, pursuing my every step.


In exhaustion, I begin to slow my run down.

* * *

It all started a few weeks ago. I was just draining down my daily medication, and as I set the cup down, there, in the glass' reflection, was his face. In a frenzy of panic, I turned around, only to find the kitchen empty. I tried to reassure myself that the man was just a part of my imagination, but that didn't stop my heart from racing. Since then, I kept catching a glimpse of his brooding face. I laughed off each sighting but my anxiety only grew.


After two weeks, I sought for help. I turned to the leading psychiatrist in town who guaranteed a ninety-three percent success rate, but like the doctors I had been seeing, he couldn't cure me. He passed it off as the side effects of taking my regular pills.


"Hallucinations, it's a common reaction to such frequent medication."


But I knew better. Or so I thought I did.


At first, I was reluctant to cut back on my medicine. I needed them. Without them I wouldn't last, I wouldn't be able to function, I wouldn't be... alive. Yet, pretty soon, I became desperate. Afraid. Willing.


Slowly and methodically, I began to reduce my intake of pills: from a regular intake of six a day to five, then four, then three. Yet, the dark silhouette continued to reside his position behind every turn, around every corner. I tell myself that my paranoia is only just getting the better of me, but a silent and persistent voice inside my head knows better. His appearance has become even more frequent now more than ever, and his features more defined. I could now see clearly his sharp, jagged visage and bleak, foreboding figure. What frightens me the most, though, was
the fact that now, above all else, I could not only see him, but I could also feel his presence.


He taunts me, pulling my sanity at its seams.

* * *

Exhaustion devours my being.


All I hear is footsteps. Quiet, rhythmic footsteps. Slow, paced and steady, like the sound of my melodic heartbeat. Then a jerk in a perfectly uniformed beat, and a sudden tweak in my heart’s throb. The footsteps begin to quicken, and so do the length in which the seconds seem to pass. The faster my heart seems to beat, the faster the footsteps would become. A silent thought forms in my head, a thought I tried to keep so well hidden in the back of my mind.


He's here.


I break into a run again as my pulse begins to accelerate, but no matter how fast I run, or where I run, he is always one step behind me. He haunts me like a burdened spirit, threatening to swallow me whole.


I run down a narrow road, moving as fast as my legs can take me. My bare feet begin to plead for mercy as they bleed under the pressure of broken alcohol bottles and stray pebbles.


Slowing down, I risk a glance behind me. No one. As I take a moment to regain my breath, I finally hear it: the unmistakable sound of Death. Though vague, the sound of his muffled footsteps are undeniable. With every passing moment, they become more and more vivid, until suddenly, I can feel it. I can feel Death's intense eyes piercing into the back of my head, his glaciated breath strangling my neck, and his knife-edged hands clawing at my throat.


His unyielding grasp drags my limp body down to an eternal abyss.