It’s been a couple of months since I came back. Even though I’m still shaken by everything that’s happened, I’ve started getting used to this new world—or at least pretending to. Dad is still missing. Mom works part-time to keep us going, and I help her with chores around the house. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that she and Sarah are hiding something from me. They speak carefully, as if every word might shatter something fragile between us. I don’t press them. They’ve already carried enough pain. 190Please respect copyright.PENANAxVvdGdTZgl
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From what I’ve gathered over the past two months, the “Death Hole” appeared several years ago—first swallowing only the area where it emerged. But as time passed, it began to grow. Slowly at first, then faster. And the closer people lived to it, the stranger things became. 190Please respect copyright.PENANAgdSWx737nY
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Diseases with no names. Fevers that don’t burn. Skin that hardens like stone or melts like wax. Some people lose their voices; others lose their memories. Those who saw it up close said that whenever something terrible happened, a faint black smoke would rise from the ground—thin, barely visible, but undeniably real. 190Please respect copyright.PENANAiPyrgVAVmf
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People stopped talking about it after a while. They said it was a curse, a divine punishment—that the more you spoke of it, the faster it spread. Silence became a kind of protection. Fear became part of breathing. 190Please respect copyright.PENANACVOvApwfxY
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As I sat there thinking about it all, the noon felt unusually still, too still. Then I heard footsteps outside. Slow. Dragging. 190Please respect copyright.PENANAp5DXstGcVa
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I froze. 190Please respect copyright.PENANAH2WuEHeBk4
190Please respect copyright.PENANAxGBybm8CLU
“Who’s there?” I shouted.190Please respect copyright.PENANAx1r0gDdsSA
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Lost Spirit
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Lost Spirit
Author:
grim
ISSUE #8
Issue 8 – Two Months Later
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