By Melissa L. Webb
“You can’t hide from us,” a voice whispered in my ear; an icy chill coating my neck as it did.
I turned, looking around me. I was alone. No one else occupied the dark street. It had been like that for the last week. Ever since that day.
The day I died.
People say when you have a near death experience you come back with something. I always thought that was absurd. How could your body gain anything as your cells shut down one by one? If anything, you should come back with less than what you had to start with.
Death is a decaying process. It strips you down until there’s nothing left but dust and bones. No more than nutrients for the ground below. It doesn’t add layers. It doesn’t bestow anything.
I continued on, trying quickly to regain the composure I needed to get on with my life. I needed to put the whole damn mess behind me.
If only I could be so lucky.
“We will never leave,” a hollow disembodied voice informed me; a smile coating every word. “We will always walk beside you.”
Grimacing, I pushed open my door, trying to hide in the confines of my home. It was pointless; the voices followed me as if I was a beacon of light.
It didn’t matter where I went. They were right. They’d always find me. I was the flame to those voices, they fluttered around me, drawn for reasons I will never understand.
When I died, I wasn’t given anything. Instead, I had things taken from me. My life, my sanity, taken from me in a blink of an eye. I wasn’t given any special gifts.
I can’t see the dead, but now they can see me.
© 2015 Melissa L. Webb