105 / 168
105
‘Time’s up.’
‘But I–’
The larger particle twists long, firm fingers around the woman’s arm. You
reach for her. You had promised protection. The noise suddenly comes to you; the
name! You try to scream, a new thirst shivering down your body. You need to
make the noise; you need to speak but your throat – hoarse as sandpaper – only
allows a whisper.
‘Claire,’ you whisper.
The particles drift down the corridor. Their retreating footsteps mock.
‘Claire!’ You whisper.
Ghosts of the past come in faster now, their chorus gaining speed and volume.
She has to turn around. She has to!
‘Cl–’
Ghosts roam the interlocking, chained corridors. Among
them are the ghosts of the past. These ghosts slide their misty,
frostbitten hands along the stone walls and chill the air with their
haunting whispers.
‘
Ghosts Of
The Past
11