The Juxtaposition of Living and UnLiving

A boring school dance turns into a night soon forgotten by some and remembered by others

The Juxtaposition of Living and Unliving


          Halloween Eve. For everyone else, it meant costumes and candy. For Debi, it meant pretending this was anything but the last place she wanted to be, shackled to her cousin, Sandy.

          Sandy, a whirlwind of nervous energy and forced cheer, had been unbearable all evening. She prattled on about crushes and costumes, while Debi stared at the pathetic plastic cobwebs draped across the basketball hoops, wishing she were anywhere but here. Then, mercifully, a reprieve.

          "Oh, Debi, I feel really sick," Sandy mumbled, her face suddenly pale, eyes wide and a little glassy. "I need to... I need to go to the bathroom." She bolted before Debi could even nod. She watched her go, a flicker of something unreadable in her hurried exit. Good riddance, Debi thought, then immediately felt guilty.

          Sandy returned sooner than Debi expected. Suddenly, a hush fell, almost imperceptible over the pounding bass, a cold ripple. The double doors to the gym swung open, and a group of students glided in. They moved with a fluidity that caught Debi's eye, a strange, almost predatory grace.

          "Must be the Seniors," Debi muttered, mostly to herself. They usually stuck to their own side of campus. Their costumes were perfect, timeless. One girl wore what looked like a Victorian mourning dress, its black lace impossibly delicate. A boy had a sharp, tailored suit that drank the light. Their eyes, though, were what truly snagged attention. They weren't just observing; they were assessing. A shiver traced its way down Debi's spine.

          Debi glanced around, expecting to see others sharing her unease. Instead, every gaze was fixed on the newcomers, wide-eyed and awestruck. Not a single person noticed the wrongness, the subtle chill that had entered the room with them. It was as if a spell had been cast, making them blind to the unsettling aura that radiated from the group.

          Sandy's head bowed slightly, her lips moving, forming silent words. At first, Debi thought she was humming to the music, but then she leaned closer. It wasn't humming. It was a low, guttural murmur, a stream of whispered syllables that sounded almost mechanical, certainly not like her usual voice. She was talking to herself, or to someone she couldn't see. Her eyes, still sparkling, were fixed on the new arrivals, a strange, hungry look in them.

          "Sandy?" Debi tried again, a little louder, a knot forming in her stomach. "What are you doing?"

          She ignored Debi, utterly oblivious to her presence, lost in her whispered communion. The music, which had been a dull thrum, now felt like a frantic heartbeat. Debi's chest tightened.

          Then, without warning, the entire gym plunged into absolute darkness.

          A collective gasp, then a wave of screams, bright and sharp, pierced the sudden void.

          Just as Debi felt herself losing balance, a hand shot out and clamped onto Debi's arm. Not Sandy's usual gentle grip. This was a vice, fingers like iron bands, digging into her flesh, cold as grave dust. The whisper, closer now, a chilling breath against her ear, seemed to say something, but the words were foreign, ancient, echoing from a place she never wanted to know. The darkness wasn't just physical. It was feeding. And as the screams continued, Debi realized Sandy wasn't helping her. She was holding her, trapping Debi.

          Then silence. Not the quiet you would hear before a movie starts or someone speaks. This was the absence of all sounds--a vacuum of life.

          The emergency lights suddenly came on, bathing the high school auditorium in an unhealthy yellow. After the utter darkness, Debi needed to blink several times to get her eyes accustomed to the dim light. What she saw made her wish they had stayed off.

          Standing facing her were the students, faculty, and chaperons. Their eyes were looking directly at her, unblinking. Blood tears were dripping freely from every eye, flowing down their cheeks onto the floor. Debi tried to turn away but couldn't. She was mesmerized by the morbid sight, held captive by the shared, silent grief of the hundred weeping faces.

          Sandy stepped out from behind the curtain, her expression tranquil, almost beatific. "They are crying for the people your ancestors killed. Your ancestors didn't shed a single tear for what they did."

          Debi found her voice strained. "What are you talking about? Whose ancestors? Why are they crying?"

          Sandy sighed, adjusting the silver amulet around her neck. "It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that tonight the boundaries between worlds, the Living and the Unliving, are blurred. These Living volunteered their bodies and lives so that the Unliving can once more be here, to finish their lives. To live again."

          Debi looked around at the blood-crying people she once knew. "None of these people volunteered to be sent to wherever you sent them. They didn't deserve this. You are condemning them to... to... what are you saving these Unliving from?"

          Sandy genuinely smiled. "You care so much for people who can't even acknowledge. I was afraid you wouldn't understand about sacrifices. But in a way, you do." She spoke as if discussing a disappointing exam grade. The immense gravity of the spiritual trade was simply logistical to her.

          Debi scowled, confusion tightening her chest. "What's that supposed to mean? I don't understand what you are doing."

          "Not right now, you don't, but in time, you will. You can't stay because your body belongs to an Unliving. Goodbye, Debi."

          The air around Debi solidified, turning icy cold. She felt a sharp, ripping sensation, an agonizing severance where her soul met her skin. Her vision began to tunnel. She felt herself being dragged away.

          From a dizzying distance, she saw her own body slump, then straighten immediately. The eyes--her eyes--were no longer wide with panic, but narrow with a calculating, ancient malice.

          The vessel was functional, if slightly weak. The muscles were stiff from fear, and the heartbeat was far too quick. Debi's consciousness no longer mattered.

Word Count: 994

Prompt: Blurring of the boundary between worlds on the night of All Hallows' Eve,