The Gloaming

With nothing better to write about these days I decided brush away the cobwebs in here by publishing one of my old stories.

The Gloaming

‘They’ came for us around dusk. No one knew ‘they’ were coming. Not my family, not my friends, not my neighbors. No one.

But still there were signs. The first of the signs came a week before. A strange flu struck our small island. People became sick. Some died. Some, through medical means, got better. The people who died were better off. They were the lucky ones, I think.

For some reason, my sister and I were safe from the disease. But our mother was one of the first to get infected. The flu took three days to kill her. It was a slow and painful death. She continuously vomited and when there was nothing left inside her she vomited blood. She constantly moaned out in pain when she was awake and sometimes hallucinated. But she wasn’t the only one.

The flu struck here and there. And some did die bleeding to death, while others curiously got better. It was the strangest thing. Neither the medicine men nor the men of ‘fanditha’ could explain it. It was a week of funerals, a week of anxiety, a week of fear, a week of unknown; a week that reeked of death.

Amongst all this my sister and I noticed the most peculiar thing. On the last day before ‘they’ came we realized that there weren’t any animals on the island. No birds, no cats, not even rats. Even if we had gone deep within the woods there weren’t any sign of them. Where had they gone? The foreboding feeling continued throughout the day. We wanted to leave, quickly. But we had no one to turn to. We were orphans and everyone else was too busy caring for their loved ones who had the mysterious plague.

Thursday morning came. It has approximately been one week since the plague claimed its first victim. Everyone went about doing what they did as any normal day. The sick had lessened somewhat. People began to think the disease has passed. But they were wrong. It was only the calm before the storm.

My sister and I were still uneasy. That morning we had already set off towards the thundi of the island. We left the village area and walked along the beach avoiding the woods that had grown quiet, dark and eerie. When we reached the end of the island, the area the locals called the thundi, we saw the tiny island near ours where we sometimes went to swim and play. With all the horror going around and my mother’s death I had forgotten about this place.

The distance between the two islands is somewhat short and if it is low tide we could easily have walked the distance through the sea. I thought again of leaving this place. Of swimming over during high tide to the tiny island that somehow seemed strangely… safe. But the thought fled as fast it crossed my mind and my sister and I walked back to our village not knowing what horrors await us at the time of dusk.

That evening when the sun set there was a reddish tinge across the sky. The reddish glow was everywhere. As if the whole island was bathed in blood. But nothing unusual happened. People were scared, yes, but still it was an hour after sunset that ‘they’ finally came. It was as if they were waiting for total darkness.

First thing we heard was this strange howling. We thought it was the wind or maybe the coming rain but I realized the unearthliness of the sound. It was nothing made by nature. After much begging I urged my sister to accompany me to the beach. At first I noticed nothing except the growing foul stench in the air and slowly as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw ‘them’. A group of people, by the hundreds it seemed, were making their way along the beach from the north side. As they got nearer it chilled me to the bone to know that they weren’t at all human.

.......To be continued