Him

Will you look?

His shadow eclipses yours. Your first thought was that it was the graveyard gardener, and you started to turn around, but then you heard it. The distinctive clicks and the wind that whistles through him. You heard it, and you knew. You knew it was him. And you know better than to look.

You don’t have a shadow anymore. When he moves and reveals the places your shadow used to be, it feels like a piece of you has been stolen. But you won’t look and allow him to steal anything else. Your stomach twists and flips and your eyes burn with tears as you stare unblinkingly at the shadow contorting itself in front of you.

He tries to scare you into turning around. It starts with swords and knives. You see them form in the shadow, and they swing toward you. You can hear them slice through the air, and you flinch as you anticipate their sting. But these are just tricks, and you know he can’t hurt you unless you look. So you won’t let yourself look.

The weapons evolve. All sorts of terrifying devices of torture manifest in the darkness in front of you. You hear them whir and clack, and your brain tricks you into feeling some of them so that when you cry out, you don’t know if it’s in fear or in pain. But you don’t look.

He tries beasts next. Terrifying lions lunge for your throat. As the wind flows through him, he twists it into their snarls and roars. Bears swipe at you and snakes strike, but still you don’t look. He tries beasts you have only heard of in stories. The back of your neck almost stings from the heat as dragons blast their fire, which sharply outlines his horrible shadow in front of you. Great basilisks loom above you. Venom drips from their teeth, and you can hear it burning holes in the earth behind you. Gargoyles and demons dance just out of sight. Their horrible voices are almost enough to make your ears bleed, and you sob with fear.

The shadow begins to boil, and eventually it melts. But you won’t look yet. Then you feel them. The shadow of the spiders you feel covering your body grows out from your feet. His horrible clicks are their chitters, and as they reach your throat, you scream. You feel them make their way into your ears and up your nostrils. You can feel them on your tongue and running down your throat. He can’t hurt you. But he can drive you to hurt yourself. Wildly, you smack at your face to rid yourself of the spiders that aren’t really there. And you scream like you’ve never screamed before.

But earlier tonight, the gardener looked. And now there is no one around to come to your aid.

You scream, and you scream. You scream yourself hoarse, but the spiders keep coming, so you keep screaming. The taste of blood coats your tongue, but you keep screaming. You drop to your knees as you cough and paint the ground in front of you red with your own blood. And still, you scream.

Will you look?

Is it minutes? Hours? Years? At some point, the spiders have gone. You are dizzy with blood loss and exhaustion. Your front is so soaked with your own blood that it’s a wonder there is any still inside you. What’s left of your vocal cords produces a rattle that is indistinguishable from his clicks.

He changes tactics.

Your friends call to you. You can come join them. You’ll be safe. All you have to do is turn around. They’re having a great time. Your pain will leave. No more fear. No more strange shadows. Why don’t you just turn around?

You’re tired. As little as you’d like to admit it, a part of you wants to turn around. You know he won’t give you peace if you do. You know that he is lying to you. But even Hell can be appealing as long as it’s a different Hell from your current one. But you hold strong nonetheless, and you don’t look.

The earth is hard and cold against your knees, and even gasping in the night air is anything but refreshing. Behind you, your family calls. They’ll take care of you. Family won’t abandon you, and they know how to help. Just turn around. Go to them.

You sob rattly sobs, and your heart breaks, but you won’t look.

The gardener begs you to save him. Please, just turn around and help. If you would just look, his death won’t be on your hands. But you don’t look.

You don’t look as thousands of souls wail behind you. Won’t you spare them a glance? Everyone knows him, but their names have been forgotten. You can remember them for a moment. Just one small peek is all it will take. But you don’t look.

Their hands poke and prod at you. They pull as they beg and wail. Please, don’t let them go. Why should they be doomed forever just because they looked? Why won’t you help them? Why won’t you take the smallest action for them? You still won’t look.

The wails fade, and a new voice clears its throat behind you. It’s the one you’re here in this graveyard to visit. There were so many things left unsaid. You never even got to give a real good-bye. And now they’re here. Begging with you. Pleading. You can say what you needed to say. Please, just look and give them a good-bye. Let them rest. You’ll never get another chance. This is it. There is no more after this. They’ll be gone forever.

The blood on your chin cracks and flakes as you shake with grief.

Will you look?

You feel nauseous and dizzy with guilt. But you don’t look.

There is a terrible scream behind you. His clicks sound like bones breaking, and you feel his icy breath send daggers down your spine. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was exasperated. You would think he might finally be giving up.

But he is not exasperated. You have presented quite the worthy challenge, and that excites  him.

He will never give up.

Because he knows.

You will look.