Hungry, Always
Take away the open sky and the sunlight, the cool breeze, and the colors that fill the fields. Strip away the hopes that brighten your day; imagine the ground has swallowed your friends and everyone you know. Take away all of your love and your joy. And when there is nothing, cover the world with haze and black, biting hail.
This is what the spirit knew. It had a name once; maybe it was Bill or Lydia or Martin or George. But the spirit did not remember that or anything else from the days when it had walked among us. Now it had but one concern: trying to eat Brian James.
This was not easy. Brian was alive, insulated from the spirit by the mostly whole mantle that separates the living and the dead. He did not even know the wretched thing existed.
But the spirit knew him. Brian was the light of its being: a vibrant ember in its dark world. The spirit followed his every move. It was aware of other people, but just barely. Maybe it was drawn to Brian because of his smell; maybe his glow was the brightest; maybe he was simply the first person the spirit saw after waking in its terrible new realm years ago. But once it latched on, it was unrelenting. And, not knowing how else to fill the unimaginable void it felt inside, it tried to consume the light.
It threw itself onto Brian’s back, his shoulders; it wrapped itself around his legs. It opened its wide maw, endlessly trying to swallow Brian’s head and hands and feet. When Brian parted his lips, the spirit lunged and tried to bite off his tongue. It followed him everywhere, flittering back and forth and letting out shrieks of impotent rage.
Until the spirit could find a way back into Brian’s world, it would remain hungry. And so it searched; it persisted.
Brian led a quiet, solitary life. He worked; he came home. He divided his free hours between his computer and walking the tree-lined path behind his house to the small lake a half-mile down.
Sometimes, in front of his computer screen, Brian would stretch out his legs and arms, close his eyes, and relax. This drove the spirit mad, much like when Brian was sleeping. As Brian sat in his private space, his light intensified by the stillness, the spirit thrashed and snapped and screeched all around him. Rarely, it saw a hole, an open space through which to get to Brian at last. These disappeared quickly, however, and the spirit was left seething and empty.
One warm day, Brian stood at the lake. A woman appeared through the woods on the other side. He had seen her before; like him, she came here often.
Brian remained where he was as the woman walked the water’s edge. When she reached him, he smiled at her.
“Hello,” Brian said.
“Hi.” She smiled back, the day’s light brightening her hair.
The spirit knew no difference between inside or outside; in its world, there was no warmth and Brian was the cold sun to which it clung. But, here, it sensed something. The dull glow of the woman did not interest it. It was the thing that held to her back, wailing and tearing at her face. When it came close, the spirit swiped at this other of its own kind. The two hissed and spat, both emitting low growls far different from their previous piercing cries. But, as always, they could not be distracted for long from their people.
Brian watched as the woman continued past him. He was happy for the brief interaction and content that they would each return to their own quiet road. What neither knew, however, was the ravenous want that would follow them to the end, always looking to be sated.
As Brian stood under the blue sky and breathed in the fresh, open air, the spirit screamed again and assailed him anew.
