Haunted

His first few years in the underground bunker he felt claustrophobic. The isolation and terrifying loneliness were unbearable and only compounded in the confined space. There were many times he felt so desperate not to be alone that he contemplated braving the radiation above just to see someone, anyone. Anything to get out and not be alone and imprisoned. It almost didn’t matter that he would have only seen a bombed out wasteland. A few more years eroded those emotions and he accepted his situation. He had no choice. He could cook to death on the surface or live in his hole. Days ran on together for so long he just didn’t bother thinking about it anymore. One day his food would run out and in a way he was looking forward to it. A countdown.

All the relics of his former life that he used to take comfort in were almost meaningless now. The pictures of his lost family might as well have come with the frames they were in. Like words repeated for so long they lose their meaning, none of these things meant anything anymore. His wedding ring, the heart shaped locket he gave his wife on their first date, pictures of his child. Time had erased any emotion for him in them. His mind was unravelling and unanchored. Unchained from time or event it drifted.

Then one day he was taken by a peculiar notion. For some reason he didn’t feel alone. He felt as if he were...haunted. Not possessed. No it wasn’t that, he felt haunted. This idea, once sparked into existence from god knows where, sunk in deep and took root fast. Soon it was the prevalent thought on his mind. He would find himself hushing his own inner dialogue, fearful the ghost would hear him thinking about it. He would spend many hours sitting silently, listening, waiting perfectly still for proof. Waiting for the ghost to slip up and move his arm, or whisper some confirmation of his suspicions. He would stare into the mirror endlessly, scanning his form for some betrayal of its presence. A ripple under the flesh or some rustling of his hair, anything. He knew it was there and it was very good at hiding. But he was very good at waiting. Days ran together, weeks, months maybe? There was no way to tell, if he even cared. All that mattered was to know for sure. He knew it was a matter of will. Yes his physical body needed rest and food whereas the ghost had these advantages on him. Only what the ghost didn’t know was that his will was iron. He could go days without sleep or food, without taking his eyes off the mirror. He could remain rooted in that spot for years if he had to.

At least that’s what he thought at first. Days dragged on, his eyes fatigued and played tricks on him. He heard whispers at the outermost edges of his hearing. At first it was just jumbled whispers, he couldn’t make it out. Over time the whispering got louder and he could start to make some sense of it.

A word at first, “here.”

Then another “find.”

His head was swimming, his body shaking with exhaustion. Hear. Find. What else was it? He couldn’t quite make it out. He used every last pocket of his waning energy his body could find to strain his hearing to its utmost.

Then like a shot from a starter’s pistol he heard it perfectly. And once he heard it, it came into sharp focus and it was all that he could hear. A simple sentence on perpetual repeat in his mind. An invitation. A command. The ghost was telling him “I’m inside, come find me.”

After so many weeks he had done it. He had heard the ghost, could still hear the ghost, could only hear the ghost. Chanting its message in his mind.

Inside? Inside where? His whole world was inside. He existed inside now, there was no outside. He moved all over the bunker to see if what he was hearing was louder in one spot than the next. Seeking some confirmation, “Am I hot? Am I cold?” Always the same. Always imploring, “Come find me.”

Then like a diamond bullet fired into his forehead he understood. An emotional dam gave way. He collapsed in exhaustion and utter joy. He was right, his diligence had paid off. Laughing with tears of joy streaming down his face he pulled himself off the floor with exhausted muscle and weakened bone to rifle through cabinets and drawers. With a sudden burst of life he was dumping out drawers and throwing his medicine cabinet over, digging through boxes of stuff under the sink until he found what he was looking for. “I’m inside, come find me” resounding in his head he smiled and whispered back “I’m coming” and unfolded the straight razor.