Most of Me by Mark Lumby

dreaming now. I’m awake. And the nightmares will be real. What I see is, though, is blackness. But the smell of damp and dirt is strong, far more intense than the usual, as though I was swimming through the soil and was drowning in earth. I opened my eyes with a start and screamed.
    Jack stopped at the summit of the steps. He pivoted near the basement door. I could see by the look on his face that he sensed an abnormality. His features looked grotesque and twisted with horror. And with the swinging light above his head, his face was distorted.
    A hand pushed through the moist dirt and grabs my belt. I’m pulled backwards against the muddy wall, narrowly avoiding the mirror. Another hand grabbed my waist and thrust me deeper in the dirt. But then I start to sense my fingers. I look up at Jack, at his twisted face. I can feel the metal of the gun, the sweat flowing down my forehead. I can taste the salt on my lips. I can now squeeze the handle. I can pull the trigger...or I can choose not too. I can move my neck, and slowly, I check my waist and see the hand that holds me. I manage to take a step forward and look over my shoulder. But I know what I see, because I could smell the soil as I dragged myself through. I could feel the humidity of the air when I pushed my hands from the mud and grabbed the belt buckle of my older self. I was seeing from two pairs of eyes at the same time.
    I looked down at myself, face pale and covered with dirt, but it was me, the other me, the boy from the window. It was the me that was lost in this house, trapped. But, I could feel my soul becoming one again; being reunited; being myself. And as I became an individual, my twin faded until I felt no hold on my belt and no grip around my waist.
    Jack asks something, but I cared not to listen. Or couldn’t hear him over the whistling in my ears. I turn to him. He was coming back down the steps, and looked angry, but curious. He said, “ D on’t you ignore me, Daniel! What ’ s happening? What are you doing? ”
    I say nothing, but grin. A smile of enlightenment. I still hold the gun to my head.
    “ Pull the god damn trigger! ” he yelled, waving a hand at the pistol.
    I tried to keep my eyes easy, unreadable, for I'm sure Jack can see into them. Can he?
    He took another step closer, stopped, and looked uneasy. “ What are you waiting for? ” This sounds like a real question; there’s confusion in his voice, and I can tell that he’s feeling threatened.
    I keep the gun to my head. And for a brief moment I imagine myself pulling the trigger. What must it feel like? I would have release. I could sleep without the nightmares. I could sleep!
    My smile fades, suddenly.
    “ Yes! That’s it, Dan! ” he breathes. “ I see what you’re thinking and you will not feel a god damn thing. But if I reach you before you pull the trigger, I swear, you will feel more pain that you’ve ever felt in your sorry life. So use the damn gun! ”
    “ I think I will. ” I pulled the gun away from my head, my hand falling to my side.
    Jacks’ eyes widen as he looked to my right, but not at the gun. He stared at the figure standing by my side. The figure of a boy with matted brown hair, long strands caked across his forehead and face. He was thick with dirt. But his pale blue eyes shone through. His head reached my shoulders, and he looked up at me with a glimmer of a smile.
    It was Jack!
    But behind him, a crowd of hands made from dirt cling onto him like a chain. They hold his ankles and his wrists; they hold onto his waist and neck, too. Its as though he is attached to the soil that makes up the wall around us.
    I raised the pistol towards the old man. “Have you checked the hourglass lately?” I asked him with a smirk. “You don’t have me anymore. You have no control.”
    “You can’t be here. I killed you!” he told the young boy. “I made sure of it. I stabbed you in the heart and buried you down here. You can’t be alive. You’re a God Damn