Memories of ghosts – part III

…I left the study and staggered upstairs. As I slumped onto the bed, I tried to block out the memory of that hand reaching for my throat. My effort was in vain. As though a dam had burst, my mind was flooded with other memories.

In my profession, one cannot afford such emotions as sympathy or pity. One has to block them, fight them off or suffer the consequences. My conscience, never my greatest asset, had lain dormant for years. Now it resurfaced with a vengeance.

The faces of every man, woman and child I had gathered over the years, suddenly surrounded me. They peered down at my prone body with expressions of malice. I tried to sit up, but found myself pinioned by the force of their will.

The blood in my veins congealed, the beat of my heart slowed to a crawl, as the ghosts of my victims drew on my life force, leeching it from my body, drawing it into their own spirits.

It was a kinder death than I deserved, I suppose, given my many bloody, inventive ways of gathering the lives of those who had erred. There was no physical pain, only mental, which was infinitely worse.  Guilt for the taking of lives poured over me in an avalanche, burying me beneath its weight. With leaden inevitability, my spirit was forced from my mortal frame, over the threshold between life and death.

I looked around the ring of faces surrounding me and realised that now I was on the same plane as my former victims, the torment had only just begun.



One Response to “Memories of ghosts – part III”

  1. Thanks for the likes guys, 😀


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