The Shadow Behind Him

Kevin walks in shadow. It’s a loathsome shade of foreboding immensity enveloping him like a fog. In the right angle, with proper focus, you can see it: like rain, like snow. There is something tall following him and everyone knows. None can comprehend it’s nature or form, but you can feel it in every part of you that tells you when there is wrong around.

All things considered Kevin is dong remarkably well. He’s taken to the philosophy that we’re all doomed to die, but it still nips at him. It’s been three years since he could leave the house without a jacket. You could see his breath if you dared to look at him. You wouldn’t dare, because everything is telling you walk away.

If it’s any consolation he wants to leave too. He doesn’t know what’s coming but he knows it’s a good deal worse than a bullet to the head. When he sleeps he can hear it, a low raspy voice resonating beneath the sounds of a mountain top. The words are not our words but the smacking of the lips is unmistakable; it’s hungry.

If a man looks at the right minute of the right hour, in that special angle with proper focus, he might see an eye above Kevin’s head. If he’s real unlucky you might see a fang, or maybe just one of the foot prints, as wide as a man is tall. It’s all the same dread really.

If you do see Kevin and you’re feeling brave, put the poor bastard down would you? This won’t end well and we should all give what mercy we can, while we can.