'If anyone told me I would take in someone except fatty for shelter, I wouldn't believe it, but here I am…I'm Eli an average guy with low finances. I don't have any career job, just doing part-time here and there, which includes selling books and stories to interested individuals. Well, I do all this so I can fend for myself; I don't have any family, so it's easy to cater for my needs…I live on the outskirts of the city, alone…until I found him'
*Flashback, 3months back*
Eli pushed open the creaky door, the chill of the night air slapping him awake. He shivered, his bare feet protesting the cold dew-kissed grasscourt urge to relieve himself had become too great to ignore, and he made his way to the familiar spot behind the bush.
As he stood there, the sound of his urine hitting the ground was suddenly accompanied by a rustling in the bush. Eli's first instinct was to ignore it, chalking it up to the wind or a stray animal. But the noise persisted, growing louder and more insistent.
HiA shiver ran down Eli's spine as he hurried to finish, his heart beating just a little bit faster. But as he turned to make his way back to the warmth of the house, a voice called out to him, low and urgent.
"Help...please."
Eli's feet seemed rooted to the spot, his body refusing to obey his brain's frantic commands to move. It was as if some unseen force had taken control of his limbs, holding him in place.
Slowly, Eli turned back to face the bush, his heart heavy with foreboding. And then, he saw it. A figure, twisted and contorted, its face deathly pale and its eyes sunken with a deep, desperate pleading.
Eli's scream was ripped from his throat as he stumbled backwards, his mind reeling in horror. The figure's condition was shocking - bruised, battered, and covered in dirt and blood. Eli's eyes were fixed on the figure's face, and he felt a chill run down his spine as their eyes met. The scream pierced the night air, shattering the stillness. Fatty, who had crashed at Eli's place for the night, jolted awake, his heart racing. He threw off the covers and sprinted to Eli's room, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of what had triggered the blood-curdling cry.
His fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun, which he yanked from under Eli's bed. With the weapon clutched in his hand, Fatty burst out into the night, his senses on high alert.
He found Eli standing in the backyard, his body shaking like a leaf. Fatty's eyes locked onto his friend's face, and he could see the terror etched into every feature. "Hey, man, what's wrong?" Fatty asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Eli's response was a silent, trembling point in the direction of the bush. Fatty's gaze followed the gesture, and his heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight before him. It was as if time had frozen, leaving only an unspeakable horror in its wake.
Fatty's vision blurred, and he felt himself stumbling backwards. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, and to turn back to Eli. But his friend's eyes had already gone wide with shock, and his body began to crumble. Eli's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his body limp and unresponsive. The shock and fear had been too much for him, and he had fainted dead away.
Eli's eyes opened, and a searing headache sliced through his brain like a hot knife. He winced, his hand instinctively rising to shield his eyes from the harsh morning light. Fatty's voice, low and gentle, cut through the haze. "Hey, man, how're you feeling?" He handed Eli a steaming cup of coffee, which Eli accepted gratefully.
As he took a sip, Eli's gaze wandered around the room, taking in the familiar contours of his living room. Everything seemed normal, and for a moment, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. "I had a nightmare," he muttered, shaking his head.
Fatty's expression was sombre. "It wasn't a nightmare, You passed out last night."
Eli's brow furrowed. "So...?"
Fatty hesitated before speaking. "What we saw last night...it was a human. Half dead."
Eli's eyes widened. "Is he...dead now?"
Fatty shook his head. "Nah, he's in your garage."
Eli's face contorted in shock. "In my what?!" He leapt to his feet, dashing out of the living room and toward the garage.
As he flung open the door, he was met with a sight that made his jaw drop. The man was sleeping soundly on the sofa, his chest rising and falling with each breath. But it was what he was wearing that sent Eli's anger soaring. His clothes. The guy was wearing his clothes.
Eli's face turned red with rage. "Does this look like a half-dead man? He's even wearing my clothes!" he spat, his teeth gritted in fury.
Fatty's voice was cautious. "I thought it would be nice to clean him up. We don't know who he is...he might be a big shot."
Eli's anger boiled over. "Or a murderer," he snarled, before storming out of the garage.
***********************"***********************
As Eli shovelled food into his mouth, his jaw worked with a furious intensity, as if he were determined to punish the eggs and toast for their very existence. But the truth was, his mind was elsewhere, consumed by the stranger Fatty had brought into their home.
Fatty's voice cut through Eli's reverie, his tone laced with concern. "Something's off about that guy. He was covered in bruises last night, but this morning...it's like he's almost healed. Just scars left behind."
Eli's sigh was a slow, deliberate exhalation as if he was trying to expel the unease that had taken up residence in his chest. Fatty's words only added to his growing sense of disquiet.
"I know I shouldn't have brought him here," Fatty said, his voice defensive, "but I couldn't just leave him out there. He was in bad shape. I figured we could at least patch him up until he's back on his feet."
Eli's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "I'm not worried about him staying here, Fatty. What's bothering me is how he ended up here in the first place."
Fatty's expression was puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Eli's voice dropped to a whisper. "His wounds...they don't look like gunshot wounds or anything like that. It's like...something attacked him."