Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 349

“But…I’m dreaming.” I protested. “I’m in a dream right now, a dream that I should be able to control, a dream in which I
shouldn’t have ended up here, a dream that shouldn’t have had you in it –” I sucked in a breath and looked her in the eyes.
For once, she looked unsettingly spooked. “That was what the other said.” she whipered softly.
“I’m sorry, who?”
“The other.” she brushed back a strand of hair. “I found her, just like I found you, seemingly from out of nowhere. She said
she was doing this thing. Dreaming. She too, said I shouldn’t have been here, that she didn’t make me up.”
Another experienced dreamer, I guessed. But what were we doing in the same dream? Why did this girl have a memory of
her? How does she even remember things? I was lost in thought. “What…happened to the other?” I asked the girl. No response.
I looked up at her. On her face was an expression of unadulterated terror. All the color had drained from her face, her
complexion paler than a ghost. Her gaze was looking past me, and she slowly raised an arm to point. “That.”
I didn’t need to turn around to know what she was pointing to. I could already feel the chills sending shivers down my
spine. The presence. The darkness. It was back. I took the throwing knife from her, feeling I might need it. There was only one
thing I could do. I turned around.
Immediately I felt like I was stabbed in the heart. As if an icy stake had suddenly sprung from the ground and impaled
me. I was writhing in absolute torture. Melancholy descended upon me, I felt completely devoid of hope, I was howling and
crying. I didn’t want to live anymore. I wanted to die. But there was some part of me still in there. Some part that wasn’t
completely deranged. With pure grit and determination, I fought back. I screamed as I used the dwindling part in me that was
still human to push back the darkness. It shifted - by an insignificant amount, but that slight shift was all I needed. A glimmer of
hope. I used that glimmer, turned it into a spark, I used that spark, turned it into a flame, I used that flame, turned it into a
blazing fire. Straining for control, I stood my ground against the presence, willed it to perish, begged it to be gone. I fought fire
with fire. But it wasn’t enough. My fire was stronger than its, but it was quickly losing fuel. So I took away its fuel. Mustering up
all the strength I had left, I whipped around and released the knife at the girl. It lodged squarely in her skull and she collapsed.
The presence disappeared. Vanished.
While I fought against the presence, it had revealed what it really was. Old Shanghai had been demolished, reduced to
rubble, and as it was razed to the ground, gone too were those who had lived there. Their memories, their lifestyle, their
traditions…it was tantamount to the wiping out of an entire people, really. That explained the empty city. But their souls
remained – souls of hatred, souls of longing, souls of vengeance, taking up the form of the dark amalgamation, the presence,
radiating dread and hopelessness. Its very existence fed on one thing – the very few remaining parts of Old Shanghai, where a
infinitesimal amount of them remained. And that’s when I realized who, or rather what, the girl was.