The Things Beneath His Skin
1572 Words
The night after the incident refused to end.
Even when the sun rose, pale and uncertain, it felt like darkness had simply thinned rather than disappeared. The boy sat at the edge of his bed, unmoving, his hands resting on his knees as if they belonged to someone else. They looked normal—too normal. Smooth skin. No marks. No signs of what had happened.
But he knew.
He could still feel it.
A slow, strange movement beneath his skin, like something alive had curled itself around his bones and decided to stay.
His name was Tare, though lately it felt like a name that no longer fit him.
He hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again—the moment in the forest when his reflection in the water didn’t match him. The way its eyes had flickered silver. The way it had smiled when he hadn’t.
And the voice.
You’re waking up.
He pressed his palms together, squeezing hard as if pain could anchor him to something real. “I’m fine,” he whispered to himself.
But the whisper sounded wrong—too deep, too layered. As if another voice had spoken with his.
Tare froze.
He slowly stood up and walked to the mirror hanging on the wall. It was cracked at the corner, a thin line stretching like a scar across his reflection. He stared at himself, searching for something—anything—that proved he was still human.
At first, everything seemed normal.
Then he blinked.
And for just a second—less than a heartbeat—his eyes weren’t brown.
They were silver.
He stumbled back, knocking into the chair behind him. It clattered loudly, the sound echoing through the small room.
“Stop it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Stop imagining things.”
But he knew he wasn’t imagining.
Something had changed.
No—something had started.
Outside, the village moved like any other morning. People carried baskets, children ran along dusty paths, and voices blended into the usual rhythm of life. Nothing about the world suggested that anything was wrong.
Except Tare.
He stepped out of his house cautiously, as though the ground might reject him. The air felt different against his skin—sharper, more detailed. He could smell things he had never noticed before: wet earth, distant smoke, even the faint metallic scent of blood from somewhere far away.
It overwhelmed him.
He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Why can I smell that?” he whispered.
“Smell what?”
Tare flinched and turned.
It was Simi—his younger sister—standing a few steps away, holding a piece of bread in one hand. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, not fear. Not yet.
“Nothing,” Tare said quickly. “Just… thinking.”
Simi tilted her head. “You look strange.”
He forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean it,” she insisted, stepping closer. “Your face… it’s like you’re here, but not here.”
Tare looked away. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Simi studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “You should eat something. Mama said you barely touched your food last night.”
“I’m not hungry.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
He was hungry.
But not for food.
The realization hit him like a sudden drop, and his stomach twisted in response. The hunger wasn’t sharp like normal hunger—it was deeper, heavier, like something inside him was demanding more than just bread or rice.
He swallowed hard.
“I’ll eat later,” he said.
Simi hesitated, then handed him the bread anyway. “Just in case.”
He took it, though he knew he wouldn’t touch it.
As she walked away, Tare watched her carefully.
Not like a brother.
Like something else.
And that terrified him.
By midday, the changes became harder to ignore.
It started with sound.
At first, it was just faint whispers—too soft to understand. But as time passed, they grew clearer. Not voices from people nearby, but something deeper, like echoes buried beneath the world itself.
He heard footsteps before they happened.
He heard conversations from across the village.
He even heard the slow, steady beating of hearts when people stood close to him.
It was too much.
He retreated to the edge of the village, where the land opened into fields and scattered trees. It was quieter there—or at least, it should have been.
But the silence only made the other sounds louder.
Tare crouched near a tree, pressing his hands against his ears. “Make it stop,” he muttered. “Please, just stop.”
Why would you want it to stop?
The voice was back.
Clearer than before.
Stronger.
Tare’s head snapped up. “Who’s there?”
There was no one.
Only the wind brushing through the leaves.
But the voice didn’t fade.
You asked for this.
“I didn’t ask for anything!” Tare shouted.
Didn’t you? the voice replied calmly. You went into the forest. You followed the pull. You touched what you shouldn’t have touched.
Tare’s breath quickened. “I didn’t know—”
Exactly.
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
Then—
But now you do.
Tare clenched his fists. “What are you?”
The answer came slowly.
I’m what you’re becoming.
The ground beneath him trembled.
It was subtle at first, like a distant rumble. But then it grew stronger, spreading outward in a small circle around him.
Tare stared at the soil.
It was moving.
No—responding.
A thin c***k formed, and from it, something dark began to rise. It looked like smoke at first, but it had weight, shape. It twisted and curled like a living shadow.
Tare scrambled back. “No… no, no, no…”
But the shadow didn’t attack.
It hovered in front of him, almost… waiting.
Go on, the voice urged. Touch it.
“I’m not touching that.”
It’s already part of you.
Tare shook his head, but his hand moved anyway.
Slowly.
Unwillingly.
As his fingers brushed the shadow, a surge of energy shot through him. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw something else entirely.
A different place.
A different time.
Darkness stretching endlessly, filled with shapes that weren’t quite human. Eyes glowing in the void. Whispers overlapping into a deafening chorus.
And at the center—
Something watching him.
Not with eyes.
But with awareness so vast it made him feel smaller than dust.
Tare yanked his hand back, gasping.
The vision shattered, and he was back in the field.
The shadow vanished.
But the feeling remained.
“You saw it,” the voice said softly.
Tare’s hands trembled. “What… was that?”
A pause.
Then—
Home.
He ran.
He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to get away—from the field, from the voice, from himself.
His legs moved faster than they ever had before. The wind rushed past him, but he barely felt it. The world blurred at the edges, unable to keep up with his speed.
He didn’t stop until he reached the old well at the far end of the village.
It was abandoned, cracked and overgrown, a place children were told to avoid.
Tare leaned against the stone, breathing heavily.
“I’m not… whatever you think I am,” he said.
You still believe you have a choice.
“I do have a choice!”
Then stop it.
Tare froze.
“…What?”
Stop hearing. Stop seeing. Stop changing.
He opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
He couldn’t.
No matter how much he wanted to, the changes didn’t listen to him.
The voice seemed to smile.
Exactly.
A sudden noise interrupted them.
Footsteps.
Tare turned sharply.
An old man stood a few meters away, watching him.
His eyes were sharp—too sharp for someone his age.
“I was wondering when it would start,” the man said.
Tare stiffened. “What?”
The man stepped closer. “The signs were always there. Subtle, but present.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” the man asked calmly. “The way you move. The way the air bends around you. The way the ground answers when you step.”
Tare’s heart pounded. “Who are you?”
The man smiled faintly.
“Someone who has seen this before.”
A chill ran through Tare. “Seen what?”
The man’s gaze darkened.
“Boys who stop being human.”
Silence fell between them.
Then Tare asked the question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.
“…What happens to them?”
The man didn’t respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was quiet.
“They either learn to control it.”
A pause.
“Or they become something the world cannot survive.”
Tare swallowed hard.
“And which one am I?”
The man looked at him—really looked at him.
Then he said,
“That depends on what you choose next.”
The voice inside Tare stirred again.
Choose carefully.
Because for the first time, Tare understood something clearly:
This wasn’t just happening to him.
It was waiting for him to decide what kind of monster he would become.
And deep down—
Something in him was already choosing.
- Writer
