There was a hiss and Howell jerked awake, his heart pounding against his ribcage. The sun was now on the horizon and the normally gorgeous sunset seemed muted and grey. There were colors in the air, but those colors were circling him in the form of vicious little monsters that caused his body to tense.
He had never seen this many before, and saying they were just spots from a migraine was not convincing. They circled him in a predatory nature and he stood up, grabbing the metal box he had dropped as he held it out like a shield.
They were not real. Just hallucinations. His psychotic genes had finally caught up with him in full force. And Howell did not believe a word he told himself.
A lot of the creatures were similar to the one he had pulled off Lange, but there were a few more color options other than black-light purple. There was also a dingy yellow and a dull green in the mix of razor-sharp, fanged fabrics.
Howell shook, his head as his headache danced in the back of his mind. He needed to stop thinking of those leeches as fabric. Now that he was seeing them for a second time, he could see they had a little more substance to them. It was an ethereal kind of substance which is why they could hide from normal humans. After all, an unsuspecting host was the only way a leech could survive.
With a few blinks Howell finally caught up with his thoughts. He did not understand them, but they seemed to make the same amount of sense as the box did. To just know something he had never studied was a sure sign that he was making it up. Still, why was it that the more he tried to convince himself he was crazy the more he did not believe it?
“Ghosts,” he muttered, the word escaping his lips before he realized he had even thought it.
It was like a signal and one of the creatures launched themselves at him. His body reacted with adrenaline and Howell swung the metal box in his hand as defense. The connection was a tingling sensation that was amplified through the box and Howell felt his head clear dramatically.
The ghost shrieked and its ethereal body dissolved. Howell numbly dropped the box in surprise as his thoughts of insanity and reality collided. He had never bothered to study psychological disorders, never cared to find out what exactly was wrong with his parents. Now he wished he knew a little bit about the parameters of hallucinations.
If this was a hallucination, it was a full sensory. No, more than full sensory. He could see, hear, and feel the creatures. He could even smell and taste the bitter grit of them on the wind. It was another sense, though, that amplified everything. His mind felt sharp as if he was trying to remember everything he knew about ghosts, which should have been only fiction.
The creatures seemed to have wised up and several launched themselves at him. Howell dodged, finding himself scrambling along the roof. Thoughts of insanity escaped him as thoughts of survival reigned supreme. He could not go inside, because they would follow. He was a threat, and they needed to eliminate him.
And Howell felt the same way about them. Two of the dull green leeches latched onto his leg and Howell hissed in pain as he tripped and fell off the roof and onto the cracked glass of the city’s ceiling one foot below. These ghosts were different, stronger than the one that had been on Lange, as they remained on his leg rather than instantly evaporating.
The glass was thick; Howell knew from experience that it could support his weight even when it was cracked. It was actually a great relief to realize that he would not have to worry about his footing too much and could concentrate solely on defending himself.
Trying to rip the creatures off as the others swarmed above, Howell’s eyes fell on the only thing he could find. The metal that framed the outside of the city, the same metal as the box, seemed to be where the ghosts avoided. He swung his infected leg around and pressed the ghosts up against it.
The result was instantaneous relief as one creature died while the other let go. The pain in his leg actually seemed to vanish with the creatures and Howell took the brief moment of respite to find a weapon. The metal that framed the ceiling glass was as neglected as the rest of the ghettos. Pieces were cracked and popped out of rivets.
The silvery-black metal was superficial; it actually was not holding the glass together. The thought was a brief moment of surprise, but a moment was all he could afford it. Howell grabbed one of the broken shafts of metal and pulled on it, ignoring the sharp edges as they bit into his hands.
With a snap, the metal was freed and Howell stumbled backwards a few steps. The piece he had was about as long as his forearm. Its edges were jagged, but they would be doable for the moment.
This time, rather than waiting for the ghosts to make the first move, Howell launched himself at the creatures. With his makeshift sword he easily impaled two of them. There were not as many creatures as he originally thought, but they were now so enraged with him that they attacked with a sort of frantic frenzy.
The sun, and light, was almost completely behind the horizon, but the colors and shapes of the ghosts remained vivid in the teen’s eyes as he extended the reach of his weapon. While the outside world faded into the black and grey of night, a whole new world of light surrounded Howell’s senses.
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