The Long Trip Home
Denton awoke with a start grasping at the sheets, which had somehow twisted themselves around his legs, suffocating his movement. There was sweat on his brow, and he didn’t have to check the lone pillow to know that it was sodden and filled, now overflowing with the rank smell of fear and alcohol, that he seemed to take with him wherever he went these days.
The nightmares were getting worst, and were fading less and less with each passing night. Dark visions of nameless, faceless things which grasped at him, threatening to pull him under into their world…a world darker than dark.
The voices were there, in that darkness.. those same voices that he’d heard on that damned island. He could only understand part of what they were saying, but none of it made any sense. He seemed to hear conversations, or bits of them. Each in shifting voices, sometimes resembling those of his neighbors, sometimes those of his friends, and sometimes, worst of all, the voice of Marjorie. Her voice seemed so lost somehow, sad, afraid and sometimes angry. It was more than a man could bear..should have to bear.