Hands

Bits of hay flew everywhere. As an iron-like grip tightened around Wade's throat, his survival instincts kicked in. He reached up to fend off his attacker, but his fingers found only air. Panic surged through him as he struggled against the implacable hold. Wade's vision began to blur as the crushing pressure on his neck increased. He tried to draw breath, but only a strangled gasp escaped. His hands flailed, searching for something to grab onto. His body weakened rapidly under the relentless force.

As the vice-like grip tightened, a grating noise filled the air—a sound similar to dry twigs snapping. Each increase in pressure produced a chilling crunch, soft yet distinct pops that indicated the breaking down of structures within Wade's neck. These sporadic, muffled crackles mixed with his labored, wheezing breaths.

An intense pain surged—a direct, crushing force on his neck bones. The unyielding grip ensured there was no escape. His body went limp. With one last subtle twitch, he was still. The barn was silent for a moment, save for the soft, unsettling whispers of wind through the cracks in the wooden structure. Whatever force was holding Wade released his limp body to fall back into the hay. His body lay there, glassy eyes wide and mouth agape. 

Once again, Wade was dead. He hovered above his own body, experiencing both relief and horror as he looked down at the lifeless form below. Relief washed over him because he no longer had to flee, no longer had to fear. Yet, horror gnawed at him as he recalled the brutal crushing of his neck—a sensation that lingered like an echo in his memory. Instinctively, his hand moved to his neck, and shock rippled through him when his fingers met ethereal flesh.

In this state, Wade found that he still possessed hands had a form, though it was transparent and wispy, resembling the faint vapors rising off a hot meal. His existence was still distinctly humanoid, different from his previous formless experiences in the void. This unexpected continuity of his physical essence, albeit in ghostly form, unsettled him. 

Wade hovered, invisible and silent, expecting to be pulled into the void as before, but nothing happened. The barn around him wavered in and out of focus, yet he felt oddly anchored to the spot. From the loft, a figure in a black robe descended the ladder, a heavy chain dragging behind them with a low, grinding screech across the wooden floor, punctuated by sharp metallic clinks as it adjusted and moved. Moonlight slipped through a crack in the wall, casting a stark light across half of their face.

He watched as the figure moved deliberately toward his body, which lay crumpled on the barn floor. It was Skye, his sister, though her face was as unreadable as stone. She seemed unaware or indifferent to his spectral presence as she reached his body.

Skye knelt beside him and methodically wrapped the chain around his neck, the metal clinking sharply in the quiet barn. She stood, effortlessly pulling his body across the wooden floor toward the loft's edge. The chain scraped against the ground, its screech echoing in the barn. With a heavy thunk, she secured the other end of the chain at the edge to a heavy beam, pulling it taut. Skye pushed his body over the edge, and the chain rattled violently as it unspooled. The sound escalated quickly into a rhythmic tempo until it snapped taut with a loud, harsh clang, followed by smaller clinks as the chain settled. Wade's body swung slightly in the air.

After ensuring the chain was secure, Skye retreated down the ladder. The dim light played across her features, revealing no emotion, as if she had merely performed a routine chore. She stepped onto the barn floor, her boots making soft thuds on the old wood as she walked toward the exit. The barn door creaked on its hinges lightly as she opened it, a cold breeze fluttering in and disturbing the stillness inside. Skye paused in the doorway, glanced back emotionlessly at her brother's hanging body, and left the barn. The door swung gently behind her before coming to a rest.

Wade was overwhelmed by a wave of numb exasperation. 'They'll think I did this to myself,' he realized with a chilling clarity. He attempted to step forward to follow, but his feet refused to comply. He was anchored invisibly to the cold barn floor. Desperately, he tugged at his legs, which remained immovable as if glued to the spot. Frustration welled inside him, and he tried to groan out loud, yet no sound emerged—only silent wisps of his ghostly form dissipated into the air, marking the futility of his efforts.

He strained harder, his ethereal muscles tensing as if they were real, but nothing happened. 'Come on,' he urged himself, 'move!' But his form remained stubbornly fixed. In the stillness, Wade felt a shift, a subtle change in the air. Slowly, ever so, he felt a slight give, a faint loosening of the invisible bonds holding him in place. It wasn't much, but enough to ignite a spark of hope. Wade poured all his will into that tiny crack, straining against the force that held him captive. The barn around him seemed to shimmer and blur, his vision wavering. Wade's frustration mounted with every heartbeat, the effort draining him yet fueling his determination. He could feel the barrier weakening, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

Wade focused every ounce of his being on breaking free. His form trembled violently, the air around him crackling with energy. And then, with a sudden, forceful snap, he was free. Wade stumbled forward, his ghostly form lurching as if he had just broken through a physical barrier. He didn't waste a second. His eyes locked onto the barn door, where Skye had disappeared moments ago. He moved, each step still feeling like a Herculean effort, but he moved. 

Every step he took was heavy, yet his feet made no sound. He glanced around, testing his ability to interact with the physical world. He reached out to pick up a piece of hay, straining with all his might. His hand didn't pass through it like in ghost movies, but neither did he have the strength to lift it. It simply remained in place, resisting his touch. Frustrated, he tried kicking it. His foot connected, but the effort felt monumental as if the hay weighed a thousand pounds.

Wade's eyes darted to the barn walls. He approached one, extending his hand to touch the rough wood. His fingers met solid resistance; he couldn't walk through it. Despite his ghostly form, the realization that he was bound by physical laws both frustrated and intrigued him. He pressed harder, testing the limits of his ethereal body, but the wall remained unyielding.

He climbed down the ladder and slowly walked to the barn doors. In what he thought was futility, Wade tried pushing on the doors. To his surprise, the door creaked as it slowly inched open. He pushed himself out through the space he made wide enough to get through, but what greeted him was not the snowy landscape. It was a blinding light.

Gradually, his senses adjusted. The blinding light softened, revealing a reddish glow around him. The warmth was comforting, almost familiar. He felt strange. Weightless, but a little different. He was warm and had tangibility. Legs and arms were working. He could feel a faint pulsing rhythm resonating around him like a heartbeat. It was a rhythmic, soothing sound. Wade's mind raced with the possibilities of where he was now.

As he moved his arms and legs, he realized he was suspended in a fluid, cradled by gentle pressure on all sides. The rhythmic pulsing grew stronger and more pronounced, enveloping him in a steady, calming cadence.

Panic and curiosity battled within him. Where am I? What is this place? His mind struggled to make sense of the surreal sensations. Then it hit him—he was inside a womb.

He floated in this embryonic state suspended between what could be, for an insurmountable amount of time. How long had he been stuck here?

He had been there for quite a while, and time had passed slowly, agonizingly. He had had bouts of sleep, which were a blessing. His resolve in the belief he was a fetus had become concrete. Encased in the gentle, rhythmic embrace of the womb, he had floated in a world untouched by the harshness of light or the cacophony that awaited beyond. His metaphorical universe had been a symphony of muffled tones, a canvas of soft, crimson hues painted by the scant light that had filtered through the protective barrier encased by Wade.

His senses, though limited, had become keenly attuned to this aquatic realm. The taste of the amniotic fluid had been ever-present. Each gentle turn or stretch had expanded his awareness of his new body. He could hear voices, their tones and rhythms seeping through the layers that had shielded him. The language of what he presumed to be his parents was strange. It had not been a language he had ever heard. Wade had spent much of his time trying to discern the language and deciding whose voices were his mother's or father's. 

He replayed the moments of his previous life, the terror and confusion, trying to make sense of it all. His thoughts often wandered to the future, to what awaited him beyond this temporary peace. Would he face the same terror and chaos again?

'This place is so quiet, almost too peaceful,' Wade thought. It was non-stop ever since the first time he died. Here, at least, he had a moment to breathe, to reflect. Despite the relative peace, a sense of anxiety lingered. Wade was morbidly curious about what would happen next. 'I know this line of thinking will bite me in the ass,' he mused, 'but for now, I'll take this peace while it lasts.' Everything moved slowly here like time had decided to take a breather.

But boredom began to creep in. How long could he stay in this liminal state before it drove him mad? He tried to count the heartbeats, to measure the passage of time, but it all blended in an endless, monotonous cycle. His mind, so used to constant stimulation and danger, struggled with the enforced stillness. He could feel his new body growing slowly over weeks, maybe months. In a way, it was fascinating to witness his own development, but it was also frustratingly slow. Until one day, his current dwelling suddenly began to contract and shift. All Wade could think was, 'Finally, I'm getting out of here.' 

Wade felt his amniotic sac break, and he practically slid out of his mother's womb. He was thrust into an expanse of sensory overload, a realm of sharp lights and piercing sounds. His first breath came in as a sharp gasp from the shock of cold air rushing into his lungs. It had been a startling sensation, filling him with a sudden and intense awareness of life. There was a mixture of scents, foreign and complex.

Sounds had assailed his ears. The murmur and bustle of the world outside the womb had been no longer muffled and distant. They had been immediate and demanding, a cacophony of voices, beeps, and the rustling of movement. 

Visually, the world had been a blur of shapes and colors. Unaccustomed to the brilliance of light, his eyes had struggled to make sense of the kaleidoscope surrounding him. Everything was intense and unfiltered, from the stark whiteness of the room to the contrasting shades that had moved and shifted around him.

As hands gently cradled him, his sense of touch came alive with various textures and pressures, from the scratchiness of a blanket to the firm but gentle grasp of fingers. 'Someone is holding me.' Emotionally, he was a maelstrom of feelings—unease, fear, confusion—all swirling within him as he tried to process the overwhelming flood of sensations. 'I've survived before. I can survive this, too.'

Wade's eyes slowly adjusted to the harsh light of the delivery room. The first sensations he registered were the sterile, clinical smells and the cold air on his skin. He was cradled in rigid, unyielding arms, wrapped in a thin, synthetic blanket that offered little warmth compared to the fluid-filled world he had just left.

"Salvexus," a voice said, its haunting, echoing quality both soothing and unsettling. The guttural undertones and rhythmic cadence were unlike any language Wade had heard. The words reverberate in the room.

Wade was transferred to another pair of arms, the movement smooth and precise. There was no warmth in the touch, only the cold efficiency of the hands holding him. The figures around him seemed to move with practiced precision. Their faces were blurry as Wade tried to see what they looked like.

The rhythmic speech continued, each word deliberate. Wade could feel the vibrations of the words, even if he couldn't understand their meaning.

"Salvexus, gratium," the voice whispered, the tone calm and detached. Wade's tiny fingers instinctively grasped at the air, finding only the cold, unyielding surface of the hands. There was no comforting touch.

Footsteps approached, and another figure appeared, marked by the click of hard surfaces meeting the floor. A deeper voice spoke, foreign yet authoritative. Wade was passed to this new figure, the grip firm but not harsh. More unfamiliar words followed, the tones devoid of warmth or emotion.

The deeper voice then said, "Vitaeus," purposeful and detached. "Vitaeus," the voice repeated, the sound firm and final. As the figures continued speaking, Wade felt a wave of exhaustion. "Gratius exordium," the voice continued. The constant murmur of the strange language provided no comfort, only adding to the sense of alienation. "Etiam, Vitaeus. Nullo perturbare".

The overwhelming sensations of birth and the new, cold world around him were too much for his tiny body. His eyes fluttered shut, and he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep—echoes of the strange language intertwined with the cold, clinical touches. 

He found himself back in the barn, but it was different now. The walls were higher, the shadows darker. He looked down and saw his own body hanging lifelessly from the beam, swaying.

Suddenly, the barn door creaked open, and the figures in black robes entered, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods. He tried to move, to escape. The figures began to hum, their voices low and unsettling. The shadows around them seemed to move as they chanted, twisting and turning. The air grew colder, and Wade felt the crushing sensation return, spreading through his entire body.

"No, not again!" Wade's mind screamed. The sound of breaking bones, each crack sending jolts of pain through him. He tried to cry out, but no sound emerged. They raised their hands, and dark tendrils wrapped around Wade. He struggled against them, but the tendrils tightened, their grip unrelenting. With a final, wrenching pull, the tendrils lifted Wade into the air and threw him into a dark void that had opened up beneath him. 

He fell, tumbling through the darkness, the crushing force never letting up. As he fell deeper into the void, Wade felt hands reaching out from the darkness, grabbing at him, pulling him in different directions. Each touch was ice-cold, sending shivers through him. The hands pulled him down, deeper into the abyss, where the darkness was so complete it felt like a weight pressing down on him.