Unblinking and nearly mesmerized, those evil eyes gazed down at Atama, as though studying something delicate and brittle. Atama's heart pounded as he stared back, and what he saw made him gasp for air. The face of the creature was terrifying because it resembled a human's. It's too human. And that was what made it wrong.
Four jagged fangs, two curling upward, two downward, resembling the tusks of a devil, protruded from its mouth, its skin taut over sharp bones, its expression twisted. Unnaturally, they protruded past its lips, causing its mouth to clench into a continuous, gory snarl. Its breathing was slow. Deliberately.
A Monster it was, shrouding Atama like a cocoon, the devilish eyes piercing him into a numbed Atama, to a weakling. Each breath the creature exhales is hotter than the warmth of the sun he felt. His throat tightened, as though fear itself were choking him, while his mouth shook, trying to form a word, anything. Then, at last, it came loose.
He let out a scream. "Help… somebody!"
The creature moved as he screamed.
It reached out with terrifying speed, snagging Atama's arm and violently twisting it back. A flash of white-hot pain tore through his shoulder as the force jolted through his body. Everything slowed in that last instant. Time seemed to be breaking up into pieces as the world seemed to elongate. His scream reverberated around him, distorted and far away. Unblinking, the creature's eyes met his, seemingly relishing the terror on his face.
Within those moments, slowly, everything became black. Atama's body was heavy, but now it felt as light as a feather; it seemed to drift through the air, released to a swirling wind. The agonizing pain was gone; he sensed nothing, no pain, no feeling, and no thought. Just like that, he became nothing.
* * *
"Atama, wake up."
In the boundless darkness, Atama heard a faint echo of a man's voice. Fading. He, who had no body, felt a surge of force, like gravity pulling him down.
Where, where am I? Somebody hello…
In that thought process, Atama returned to himself, becoming filled; he felt something he could control, a sensation of movement, but he couldn't grasp anything. Then, he fell. The feeling hit suddenly, as if the ground had vanished beneath him. He woke up, jumped from his bed, and collapsed to the floor.
Air stabbed at his lungs, each inhale jagged and raw. He pressed his palm hard against his chest, as if he could physically hold his frantic heart in place. No dice, still thundering, wild and out of control. Shadows from that nightmare. It didn't just vanish with the morning light. They stuck to his skin like sweat after a fever dream, clinging and cold. And those creatures' eyes felt like they'd been branded onto the inside of his skull. He tried blinking, but it didn't work. Those memories were burned into his eyes like an everlasting horror, and he felt the pain.
Atama sat up, sheets twisted around his legs like the nightmare had tried to drag him back under. The room looked normal, boring even, but he could still feel the echo of fear humming through his veins. Awake?
Atama walked through the living room, and over to the window, drawing the curtain back. His hands were still trembling over what had happened in that dream.
Through the glass window, he saw the world outside shrouded in a dense, black darkness, silent and motionless. The night that stretched farther than it ought to. No street lights. Not a star. Only black.
"Kuk-kuruyuk!"
The sound of a neighbour's chicken drifted from a distance. At a glance, Atama looked at the clock on the wall, which was ticking 04:49.
In that sullenness, his body crumpled, tumoring to the ground. His legs were buckling beneath him, and they were frightening. He tried to stand, but couldn't force his strength and weight to be mighty. In those mere moments, he grasped a tormenting pain in his chest, felt it, and experienced a sensation burning through. Clinging to the walls, enduring the excruciating burning pain, he managed to stand; his mouth was withered, dry, and desperate for water.
Atama trudged hazily toward the kitchen, passing his parents' room. He opened those rusty box metals, where there's no breeze of cold air coming out of them. With haste, he took a plastic bottle, gulping it down until it was empty.
Within those moments, Atama calmed himself for a bit, hearing chirping outside, reclaiming his serenity. And so, he drifted toward his parents' room, noticing the door was ajar. As his hand reached the doorknob, he pushed it slowly, leaning to try to peek inside.
A shimmering golden ray cast through the window, as a follicle of dust formed the path to a tiny star that had slowly risen to a new day. Atama looked at them briefly, his mother and father, pleasantly asleep. Moments like this, seeing them at peace, felt rare to him.
As Atama continued his school days, passing from day to week, a fiery scorcher suffocated him not long before; it was faint for a while, but it gradually knifed burning through his neck. His body came to a standstill, as if he could hardly move. Now he, sunk deep in his bed and paralyzed, could only gaze distantly at that dirty ceiling. The doctor couldn't diagnose what illness had come upon him, while his parents could only sit beside him. If he could speak right now to both of them, especially to his father.
"To you, Father, please forgive me for being feckless to you; I should listen to what word you gave to me all of that in my life, now I have become a burden to you, watching as your tired hands still carry the weight, just to support this family."
Tears leaked through his eyes and flowed with the force of gravity as his vision became blurry. His mother wiped the trail of his tears with her gentle touch. He slowly closed his eyes to sleep. But Atama was afraid of that dream coming to haunt him again. He was scared.
Until she was humming a lullaby song,
It brought back a memory of him as a child, resting on her lap and looking out from the small hut where they used to sleep towards the golden wheat fields, daydreaming. As he drifted deeper into slumber, that far-off, serene moment calmed him as wind breeze.
Then Atama fell into deep slumber, where he couldn't see a lifeful light.
"Do not fret, my child, everything will be fine." Atama heard the voice of a man in the dark, that grumpy voice, the same voice that had called him in a dream, but this time clearer. He recognized it from somewhere, a long time ago.
Atama roused from sleep and again looked at that dry, dirty ceiling.
But that's what he had felt first; now he could sense a daunting aura shrouding, seeping into the room. He felt what he had felt before in that nightmare. An aura that was bloodthirsty for killing, a monster that tears limbs into many pieces. That's presence was here.
All fibers were pumping, screaming, forcing his entire body to wake.
Then Atama saw it: the ceiling above him, filthy and cracked, now morphing its shape, as a creature from that nightmare descended upon him, doing its final hunt.
That creature descended its long, filthy hand toward Atama, reaching, trying to strangle his throat.
"Help…, help, father." Despite his futile efforts to struggle, Atama was only able to mutter.
A mighty force slammed into him, pushing through, choking him; it wasn't just a strong grip, it was overwhelming pressure breaking his neck.
But then
"Help, where are you… I couldn't breathe, Mom…, Dad!!" Finally, those words tore from his throat, but it wasn't enough.
Screaming, the silence swallowed his scream. He struggled to move, to do anything, to stay alive. Then, through sheer will, both of his hands shot up. He grasped the monster's wrist. It was cold. Though it didn't matter, he wanted to survive, he wanted his father and mother not to carry a burden because of him, he had to fight these cursed wretches.
Within that moment, Atama finally, utterly lifted the wretch's hand, despite that it wasn't enough.
Despite the possibility in these darkest rooms, Atama, who was fighting to survive, brutalized all his strength into it.
Not long before, on the other side of the bedroom door, a radiant blue light was seeping through, creeping into his bedroom.
Thus, in that instant, all of the oppressive fear and dread… began to fade. All feelings of apprehension waxed and cleansed his heart. It was more than just a glowing light.
It thrived
Atama gazed at that glimmering light, his eyes fixed upon it, seeing the light become brighter, filling to overflowing, and then it exploded, fervently consuming the dark.
And Atama heard the voice once more through that dazzling brightness. The same rough, well-known voice.
"Atama," the old man said, "come and find me."