George had been a soldier, hardened by the relentless brutality of war, but nothing could have prepared him for the nightmare that followed him home. The Ethiopian civil conflict of 2018 had taken a toll on him in ways he never imagined. On one fateful night, surrounded and outnumbered, George had fought for his life, his hands trembling as he squeezed the trigger, taking down over twenty men in a desperate bid for survival. Each shot was a means to an end—a necessary evil to protect his own life and that of his troop.
Shadows of the Fallen
But the battle never ended for George. The faces of those he killed lingered in the corners of his vision, their eyes accusing, their voices whispering to him in the dead of night. They haunted him, these specters of war, following him back to his quiet hometown, where peace had once seemed possible. Some were silent observers, watching him with sorrowful eyes, while others were far more sinister, their twisted grins promising torment.
Then there was Frank.
Frank was different. Frank was the first man George had killed that night, and he had been smiling, even as he bled out on the cold, unforgiving ground. It was that smile that stayed with George, etching itself into his mind like a scar. Frank didn’t feel like a ghost—he was a presence, a dark shadow that whispered in George’s ear, prodding him, urging him to do unspeakable things.
Acts of Darkness
At first, George resisted. He tried to drown out Frank’s voice with alcohol, with sleepless nights spent pacing the floor, trying to convince himself that he was still in control. But Frank was persistent, his voice smooth and insistent, filling George’s mind with thoughts that weren’t his own.
One night, Frank whispered to George as he walked home through the deserted streets, his footsteps echoing in the silence. A woman passed by, her eyes meeting George’s briefly before she hurried on. Frank’s voice slithered into George’s thoughts.
“She thinks you’re a monster. Show her what you can do.”
George shook his head, trying to clear it, but Frank’s words dug into his mind like claws. Before he knew it, he was following her, his hands clenched into fists. She turned a corner, and George’s heart pounded in his chest, his breathing ragged. The next thing he knew, he had her pinned against the wall, his fist connecting with her face again and again, until she crumpled to the ground. Frank’s laughter echoed in his ears, drowning out the sound of her sobs.
As the days passed, Frank’s influence grew stronger. George found himself losing time, waking up with blood on his hands and no memory of how it got there. Each time, Frank was there, smiling that same unsettling smile, urging him on. George knew he was slipping, losing control to the darkness that Frank represented. But he couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop him.
The Final Transformation
The final breaking point came one night when George stood before a mirror, his reflection distorted by the flickering light. Frank appeared beside him, his face merging with George’s own, their features blending together. George’s hands trembled as he stared into the mirror, watching in horror as Frank’s grin spread across his lips, his eyes darkening with a madness that wasn’t entirely his.
“We’re one now, George. You know what you have to do.” Frank’s voice was no longer a whisper but a part of George’s thoughts, as natural as his own breathing.
George’s hand moved to the drawer, pulling out the knife he had hidden there, the blade catching the light as it trembled in his grip. He could feel Frank’s pleasure, his excitement thrumming through his veins like a drug. With each passing second, George felt less like himself, his thoughts twisting and warping until he could no longer tell where he ended and Frank began.
As he raised the knife, a single tear slipped down his cheek, the last vestige of the man he had once been. But it was too late—Frank had won.
Swallowed By Darkness
In the final moments, as the blade descended, George’s mind fractured completely, his identity swallowed whole by the darkness. The last thing he heard before everything went black was Frank’s laughter, a sound that echoed in his skull, consuming him entirely.
In the end, there was no George, no Frank—only a hollow shell of a man, his soul lost to the horrors he had tried so hard to leave behind.
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