A/N: This is another short story derived from my homeopathic studies. It’s weird, twisted and gory, of course.

There is a chance I may submit this to a horror contest, so I’d appreciate any comments.

Threshold

Shaking uncontrollably, I awoke from the strangest of dreams.

I cannot recall the details, but I remember taking care of my affairs in this dream, as I would have done on any given day. My labor was hard but I excelled anyway, overcoming whatever obstacles the Fates had lay upon my path. And then the world changed. The shadows grew longer and the people around me became unreal; they became ghosts and phantoms and demons with blank faces and hungry eyes.

This was not what struck me as strange. What bewildered me was that I was one of them.

I woke up drenched in sweat. Did I scream? I do not know. But I know that some of the shadows of my sleep had followed my trail from dream to life.

My bed suddenly felt strange. I tossed and I turned, as the thought of imminent danger made my blood run aflame. Deep inside me, I knew that if I stayed in bed any longer I would surely die. The need to escape my fate overwhelmed me and I jumped up, throwing the covers away.

So cold…

The world around me felt unreal. Through a hazy mist, I saw that nothing was the same. Objects, whose names I once knew, were shining and glittering through the veil that covered my eyes. I reached out to grab something, anything, and steady myself but the world seemed to drift away from my desperate fingers. Every distance had suddenly grown longer, and the doorstep was as far as the heavens above. With legs that trembled, I tried to escape from this room that had become my prison.

My feet barely touched the floor as I moved through the objects that were mingled together, forming abstract shapes that throbbed and changed under my eyes. I felt my pulse beating in the same manner as I reached the doorstep. The icy coldness of a draft was unexpectedly welcome. But what came with it was not.

I first saw the shadows taking shape in between the bright forms of my abstract world. Then the shadows acquired stability and horrid faces that stared at me silently. The air around me became alive with ghosts and demons and monsters reaching out to grasp me without making a sound. I closed my eyes struggling to will them away, but even through shut lids they were there, dancing, floating; waiting. When I opened my eyes again I faced fleshless fingers pointing to an object that shone brighter in the eerie mist.

Reluctantly, I approached it. Its name evaded me, but I could now recall its use; it was something that people used to look inside and see their faces.

A mirror!

Why would the apparitions guide me to a mirror?

A surge of terror traveled through my frozen body. I fought to escape their ethereal grip, but something pulled me closer. I averted my eyes and tried to smash the accursed thing with trembling fists. But my hits were led astray, bouncing off on an unseen barrier. I cried and I begged until a forceful, fleshless grip turned my head to face the mirror. And my heart sunk.

Cold, glassy eyes were staring back at me. Shining feverishly like unholy gemstones, they were embodied in a pale, waxy face. A face shadowed, empty, bearing cerulean lips and crowned by filthy strands of thinning hair.

It was the face of a dead man.

It was my face.

I howled in despair which quickly became anger, anger and horror for the things I was denied and the existence I was facing. Nothing could quench the icy fire within as the urge to kill made my body convulse violently. I envisioned broken bones and torn flesh, slurping sweet marrow and licking salty blood. The shadows watched in silence as I searched for a way out, for a door to lead me among the living where I could slit and slash and taste warm flesh. I needed to kill; I had to kill, so others would share my anger and my fear.

So others would share my path.

The sudden awareness of the aeons of solitude that lay before me drove me to my knees. My still heart cried in despair, but my eyes remained dry, incapable to shed a single tear. So I remained crouched, mourning a life wasted and a soul lost.

Then the cold draft brushed my face again. I raised my head and I saw the ghosts and the specters dancing around me, stroking me with their ethereal fingers. Beneath their rotten features I saw their smiles and I heard faint sighs of welcome. I stood up and the world around me became brighter. With every step, the burden was lifted from my shoulders and I could hear the songs and the chants of the dead.

Something new awaited me in the company of the shadows. The life I left behind me was nothing more than a distant dream. I gazed upon the spirits that were watching in solemn silence, waiting. Then they floated in their mystic zephyr and I followed.

And I crossed the threshold.